In
the ensuing hours – the bulk of that first list I had supplied had
long been deciphered, though Deborah was still thumping people on
occasion; she had developed a liking to one of those long green
clubs, and getting her to part with it was no small amount of
trouble. I had to tell her that we would try to return with more of
them, or failing that, she could ask Lukas to secure one for her.
As if I had asked for that man himself, he suddenly showed in our
'secure-room's' doorway, his aspect wobbly, and his voice indicating
he'd driven from the 'leaden fields' to the house as if out of his
mind and the hellhounds hot on his trail.

“Least
the horses get to roll in the hay for a bit,” he said, as in the
background, the full excess of the house staff was now moving
lead at the best speed they could currently manage 'somewhere'
indoors. There was a lot of lead, the rumor went, so they knew
they'd be going until it was either secured entirely or they
died – and with the rumors of me being added to what I had
done so already today, it was rumored I'd probably kill them if they
didn't hustle. I'd already killed several of them today, so
the rumors had real teeth. “I'm dry as a bad well from all that
dust I was eating, and I had no idea quarrymen like sleeved wagons so
much – or they could hurry like that if they were of a mind to do
so.”

“Meaning
they did not waste time,” I said, my voice as dry as Lukas' own.
“Lead?”

“Lots
of it out there still, and those out there guarding the stuff are not
just having a hot time of it,” he said. “They keep finding more
bricks of lead, and more of these big greasy pouches of money, and
these other things that no one but a witch would want, and then these
leather things that I told them had witch-papers in them...”

“You
secured those, did you not?” I asked, meaning the
document-folders. “Any intelligence we can get on the enemy right
now is absolutely vital to our survival as a people, and it seems
they tend to commit anything of greater importance than the date of
their last visit to the privy to writing – though they tend to
obscure matters quite thoroughly when and where they possibly can.”

“Cé,
and he can figure their words,” said Annistæ. “I saw this
huge witch-book grow in size and change its words, and I could tell
he was angry with those two men for not understanding him, even if
that third man, the tallest, knew well what he was hearing.”

“Hopefully
they will believe him,” I muttered. “Neither of those men
seemed all that bright.”

“No,
actually they are,” said the soft voice. “Georg is used
to having to live by his wits, as are most of those in this room. In
contrast, both of those men have seldom in been in real danger
for over a decade, they both delegate a lot of their
thinking – or Hendrik did until very recently, and that
other man still does – and they both have had fairly
easy lives from a standpoint of real labor for over a decade's
time.”

Pause.
I needed to hear no more: what I had thought of as 'brass-cone-level
stupidity' was more a matter of 'long-entrenched mental laziness and
lax attitudes'. The latter could be cured, unlike patent idiocy –
which was, to the best of my knowing at this time, both permanent and
incurable in this world.

It
tended to find a most-sudden cure while being gnawed by Brimstone in
hell.

“Until
now, that is,” said the soft voice – meaning 'that tendency
toward mental sloth'. “Your 'outburst' got through to them in a
big way, far bigger than you could imagine, and what they saw
then... Well, let's just say they know something about the
appearances of 'ye monster' now.”

“What
would that be?” asked Gabriel. “Did they see your unveiled
form?”

“He's
not making sense again,” said Lukas. “Best watch him.”

“Non,
he is speaking sense, as I saw what he was then also,” said
Annistæ. “They saw Espirutu Calienti, the spirit
of fire, and that is one you do not wish to see when he is
angered, as only seeing Déo when he is angry is worse.”

“That
is not what they saw, but something far worse than what you
did,” said the soft voice. “The two of them, whether they
realized it or not, were heavily mired in long-accumulated
witch-thinking in addition to mental laziness and lax attitudes, and
he had to say to them – and show them – what he did in
order to 'snap them out of it'; and what they experienced was the
whole of what he was shown the day after he'd had to torture
the truth out of a twice-thirteen coven of witch-traitors.”

“Yech,”
I spat. “That mess was awful, but what I saw the day after scared
me.”

“Nothing compared to what they saw,
smelt, felt, and heard,” said the soft voice. “They were viewing
in full measure what those traitors were seeing brief glimpses of
'through a glass darkly', and both men soiled their underclothing
both front and rear and are now crowding the privy worse than small
children hearing an undiluted version of 'Smokestack Heroes'.”

“Georg?” I asked.

“Georg, you may recall, fired at a
pig when the thing was on his
gun,” said the soft voice. “When it comes to being stiff,
Tam likes to think
he's stiff – and compared to most people in the five kingdoms, he
is.” Pause. “Georg,
on the other hand, is about as stiff a person as you're going to find
outside of someone with substantial
markings – and many of those people in the first kingdom are in
this room.”

“Now that I didn't know about him,”
said Lukas. “He fired his gun when the pig was on
his gun?”

“Ask Matthias,
as he saw him, and Georg nearly died from that instance of
swine, as his gun was destroyed and he was bedridden with his
injuries for months after,” said Sarah. “Now, there is but one
word left on this list here, and not even Deborah can figure
out this one.”

“Yes, for that
list,” said Deborah. “There are these other lists that the three
of us did while you-all were gone, and now, we must go two and two
and go hunt these things up to bring them back to this room, and I
think its door needs closing unless a group of us happens to be
inside this room itself to keep it safe.”

That proved
something of an 'adventure', as while we could split up in pairs, it
seemed that Annistae had to be a member of one, Sarah a member of
another, and I the 'finder' of a third, which meant for a
three-person group in my case. Gabriel was one of 'my' three, and
now and then, while I had to still dose my knees for pain, I made
sure he got his dose also – as when my knees hurt, I usually
found that I had pains elsewhere on my body, and when I had Karl
check those locations – one of them was my back – he said, “you
must be feeling his pain, as I do not see anything there other
than a lot of scars.”

“They are not
entirely Gabriel's pains he is feeling,” said the soft voice. “Do
you know how he got those scars?”

Karl indicated no
by a murmured decline.

“You'll get a
real good idea of where those pains come from within the span
of three days, Karl,” said Gabriel. “No, not a whip,
either.”

“Why do you
suddenly make sense now?” asked Karl.

“Because the
witches have put a very high price upon my head,” said
Gabriel gravely, “and while they name him a monster, they
name me nearly as bad – and that name fastened upon me is
traitor.”

“No, I do not
think so,” said Karl. He patted his sword. “These take a while
to learn to use, but I have my old one, and it is still good, and you
may use it if you wish.”

“I'm not sure he
has the time to learn to use one of those, Karl,” I
said, then turning to Gabriel. “That issue with clumsiness you
have isn't just a matter of long and hard training by your parents in
how to be a witch, Gabriel. You have a certain, uh, innate
tendency that way, which is why, at least at this time...”
I knew about that kind of thing; my mother, at least when I
was young, made gentle jokes about my tendencies that way.

The children I
went to school with were nowhere near as gentle. I usually did not
get picked when sides were drawn up for games, and on the rare
occasions I was picked, I was regarded as worthless.
Hence, I was picked last when and if I was actually
picked – until I was near my full size, this in high school.

Then, there were
two sports where I was not picked last: soccer, which I was
'decent' at – not quite good enough to make the team, but the
reason why was explained to me as a simple lack of experience; and
wrestling, where only one person – a real jock – had
pinned me. After that instance, though – something snapped inside
of me, and I became the most vicious and violent wrestler in the
whole class. No one stood a chance against me in my frenzied power,
where I lifted people of my weight and more from the knees up and
repeatedly slammed them into the padded floor until I had
beaten them – not merely pinned them solidly, but beaten
them black and blue.

Given
the chance, I knew I
could have lettered in
wrestling. No mere man could stand against a berserker –
and I drank ketchup before each bout, much as if it were blood, so as
to fuel my rage and that relentless killer instinct that won matches
quickly while breaking down opponents down to whimpering lumps of raw
meat.

At least, until I
was faced three against one. While I could toss these guys – and
did more than once – they had discovered teamwork, and with one
sitting on me, and one each holding my arms, they could pin me.

Once. I then knew
how to deal with such 'nonsense': go for one while ignoring the
others. Pin him, toss him out of the hall. Who cares if he got hurt
– certainly not me while I was in the frenzy that overcame me then.
Go after another, chase him down, pin him. Toss his butt out, and
then so on, ignoring all attempts upon me, until I was the only one
left standing upon the floor, and all the enemy lay still about me.

It was the
Baresark way – get your enemies one at a time, kill them, and don't
stop until they all lie dead.

I then had an
intimation break in upon this fleeting series of recollections. “No,
more than just that, even – no, not a fraction. When you
were born, Gabriel, you had a bunch of curses put upon you by
the thirteen reigning Powers of that era... And if Cardosso himself
had been alive, he would have been among those people...” I then
spat with fury. “You had Madame Curoue there in the flesh, and she
was cursing you, such that you would become either become an
arch-witch as strong in power as Cardosso, or die upon her altar with
the label of disgrace.”

“Her curses wore
off when she died,” said the soft voice. “That of the head of
the Blomfels combine, though, as well as several others who invoked
prewar curses that still have real power – they wait until he makes
his ultimate choice before they go – and then much of
his 'inherent clumsiness' will go along with the effects of those
curses.”

Karl asked, this
directed to me, “so then why did you speak of knives?”

“Because, to put
it bluntly, he may well need to poke some people with one, both in
that port and overseas,” I said. “I suspect that between Deborah
and myself, during that time when she learns to use that small sword
she has in that place downstairs where we trained with swords, I
think that between myself, you, and Sepp, we could teach him enough
about the use of knives and other edged weapons to keep him alive in
that port.”

Here, I addressed
Gabriel himself, looking at him square in the face: “that's the
idea, Gabriel – overseas, most of the time, we'll be shooting
ammunition from rifles, pistols, and possibly other things in
sufficient volume to be as sore as if we were firing full-loaded
doubled-eight fowling pieces and putting pounds of lead downrange
each and every hour of a very long day, but there will at
times when even the pop of a suppressed pistol would be most unwise,
and then you'll wish a knife of some sort – or rather, two.”

“Two?” asked
Gabriel.

“One that's
strictly for poking,” I said. “I made eight of them, one for
each person going and three for spares. Then, another larger
item, one compact and easily hidden, yet good for slicing –
almost like what Deborah has, though how I am going to come up with
another one of those on short notice is...” I turned to
Karl, then asked, “do they have any corn knives out in the
boatwright's shop?”

“I am not sure
if they do or not, but I suspect I can find one somewhere in here,”
said Karl. “Now, what is this about bath towels?”

“First, they
don't dry as fast as we'd like, especially in a cold and damp
environment like we'll find over there, and we're going to want to
bathe when and where we can when over there,” I said. “If you've
seen how I get any time I cause trouble for witches, you can
guess why we will wish numbers of them.”

“I know about
that business,” said Karl. “The hall needed me taking three
baths, one after another, before I felt as if I were wearing my own
skin again.”

“I did not,”
said Gabriel in chastened voice. “I did not go there.”

“You did
do the messy parts of the Abbey, though,” said Karl,
“and if you did that place, then you know about dirt
and trouble.”

“I'm not
sure which of those was the worst, Gabriel – the Abbey, the hall,
or either instance of the Swartsburg going to hell,” I said.
“Then, of course, you just had your baptism of fire, and now
– well, you've really and for true 'seen the hare'.”

“I know,”
said Gabriel with a shudder. “Am I staring long yet?”

“You might be,
and might not,” I said. “It's kind of hard for me to tell, as I
have trouble reading faces – seems to be something of an issue for
marked people, as far as I know.”

“You are doing
that some,” said Karl. “That was like at the fifth kingdom house
shooting those witches there.”

“N-no, Karl,”
I said. “These thugs coming for him weren't drunk as
stinkers, and they knew exactly what they were after, and they
didn't stop coming until they were dead, and each one needed
killing entirely – and there might have been a half dozen of
those stinkers that came close enough to get big holes blown clear
through them.” Pause, then, “what he went through sounds worse
than most of the fifth kingdom house proper, except when I had to
deal with that one nasty hard-witch or go into that one room where
they did the witch-clothing and almost got killed by a pack of
witches.”

“They were
that,” said Gabriel, “and more, they were yelling this word that
I dare not speak, even if I know its meaning.”

“Which was?” I
asked, as we came to the roundabout leading to the third floor on the
back staircase.

“It means
'arch-traitor', and it vies for the word that means 'monster' if you
are a witch and inclined to speak oaths or curse people,” said
Gabriel. “More, these people were yelling it in rune-curses, and I
was seeing a lot of strange colors and shapes when they yelled it.”

“Did anyone
check them for ink-markings?” I asked. “After decapitation and
some Krokus in the mouth, and before interment?”

“Yes, and all of
those things were inked up good, most of them on several
places and in colors,” said Karl. “I know, as I buried two of
them myself, and I got the clothes off of three times that number
more, and each one I saw had at least three ink-markings, especially
this one big one showing a five pointed star with this strange thing
that could not make up its mind if it was a goat or a person in the
middle.”

“The Goat-Head,”
I said. “That is what the word 'Cabroné' literally means –
it means 'Goat-Head' – and it speaks of both that marking and what
happens to a person spiritually when they turn witch or become a
serious supplicant – and the Teacher of Guards never made it
that far, much less came close to making his bones.” Pause,
then, “Cabroni is the plural form, and it means 'Goat-Heads'.”

Pause, then, “now,
down in that port, there is this one Public House, a really special
one, and they have this special soup there. Know how to say its'
name in the Valley's language?”

Gabriel shook his
head as we came onto the third floor.

“Sopa con
Piscé,” I said. “They
tend to have a shortage of fool-hens in that area, but not a shortage
of trouts, so they make flour-mush with those instead.
Supposedly tastes at least as good as the stuff we once had, if a bit
more delicate for its flavor. Then, there, are these fried
fish-bits, though I'll need to stay clear of those if I do not wish
to spend more time in the privy than out of it and smell terribly the
whole time – and forget the fry-breads, no matter how good they
smell!”

“Best not have
those fish-bits or the fry-breads, then,” said Gabriel. “Now,
there was this one armorer's room in this area, and it was said to
want good lighting, as they didn't use good candles, and they
stinted their number as well.”

“Hence this,”
I said, producing a tent lantern. “We won't be able to use these
much overseas, so we'll have to use those blackened ones I made that
use candles.”

“Those need
adjusting a lot, but they have shutters, and they are almost as
bright as a wick-lantern,” said Karl. “They hurt your eyes a
lot, though, so you don't want to use them more than you must.”

“We will need
to, at least some of the time,” I said. “Hopefully we'll be able
to replace their glass with something that blocks their, uh,
troubling spectrum and changes it.”

“What?” asked
Gabriel. His curiosity was absolutely genuine. Maagensonst was not
the west school; their chemistry teaching was about the level I
encountered in grade school.

“Why those
fourth kingdom lanterns cause one to become dim-eyed if turned up
high,” I said. “These candle-lanterns we have here are almost as
bad for it, and it's due to the small wire coil emitting ultraviolet
light in large amounts. That's what causes people to go dim-eyed.”

Gabriel muttered
something about a dream he'd had recently overseas, that being last
night, and about how 'they won't know what these things are'
regarding Karl's candle-lantern as I turned on the tent-lantern and
turned it up. I wished to save our candles for when we needed them –
and we would need them overseas.

“You see those
blue-dressed thugs?” I asked.

“No, not them,”
said Gabriel. “I did see thugs, though, but you would not know
them by their dress at first glance. They dressed like most do over
there, or perhaps it looked like the usual, but if you looked closely
at their clothing, you could tell the cloth they wore was better made
and their clothing much more durable, but the big difference was
their shoes.”

“Shoes?” I
asked. For some odd reason, I was expecting dress shoes.

“Those named
commons often have footwear that is better used for feeding their
scrap-bins,” said Gabriel. “These thugs – they have special
names over there – their footwear looks new in comparison,
and shows very little real wear.”

“Is that
a clue?” I asked. “Or is that a clue?”

“The latter, I
suspect,” said Gabriel. “Oh, another matter about these thugs.
They are not that common, but they are not commonplace thugs,
and they are the most dangerous type that is truly common. There are
worse ones, but they are quite rare.” Pause, then, “these
people, especially in certain places, are not rare, and those
over them have effectual means of telling them where to locate those
who are causing trouble. They speak of such people needing erasure.”

“Then I and
Sarah have encountered some people like this,” I spat. “They're
called spies, and trouble isn't half of what they are.
They're usually fairly hard, so if you have to poke one, stick him so
that he's down, then clean his ears with your knife. That stops them
cold.”

“Sarah said you
did that with one of those thugs,” said Karl. “Did you?”

“Stabbed one in
the eye, cut them open like I was using a sword, flung them out,
nearly decapitated more than one – and yes, I stabbed one in the
ear, all the way to the hilt.”

“With what?”
asked Gabriel.

“With this,” I
said, as I drew my 'combat knife'. “These are some of the most
unusual knives I've ever made, and we have the very first batch of
eight of them. They can be punched into bone and not go dull in the
slightest, they won't bend, and I am not sure if you can break
them.” Pause, then, “here's the place. Mind, there might be
rats in here, so Gabriel, check your shotgun – and keep a stiff
load or two handy, in case we encounter a large rat.”

“I think he
might not want to use that stuff in here unless that rat is a big
one,” said Karl. “I am not sure what those witches were shot
with, but they were all deader than corpse-boxes, and most of them
looked like pie-filling in places.”

“Any exit
wounds?” I asked. “Places where, uh, pellets came out?”

“Yes, lots of
them, though these looked like common shot for size,” said Karl.

“Oh, my,” I
said. “Gabriel, scratch what I said about 'stiff shot for stiff
thugs'. That stuff acts like it's twice its actual size for damage
and penetration, and everything save the red stuff needs to be
treated as if it's stiff shot.” Pause, then, “I wonder
what that blue shot would be good for, then?”

“Large rats,”
said the soft voice. “It will drop thugs cleanly out to fifty
yards, unless you shoot an unusually hard spy. It will hurt
that person enough to allow you all to either take cover or
'ventilate him proper', as they used to speak of such people during
that war long ago.”

“What does that
mean?” asked Karl, as I led the way into the room, my suppressed
pistol out with a round chambered and the safety off, finger beside
the trigger guard. Gabriel was picking this stuff up rapidly;
I could tell he was no slouch in the smarts department. He'd not had
a chance...”

No, not that. His
seemingly obdurate behavior at Maagensonst had gotten the witches
running the place putting pressure on him to 'become as his family
had commanded', and hence he had had to work for his marks,
unlike those bones-holding witches and most-serious supplicants who
merely had to do some work and turn in something on
time as a rule.

He'd had no such
'grace', and more, his work had had to be genuinely good to
get a 'pass'.

Just like with
Deborah, where Boermaas had backfired, Maagensonst had backfired with
Gabriel. Had he not come from a line of powerful and wealthy prewar
witches, he would have become far more like that slim young lady with
the soft brown hair.

“Ventilate?” I
asked, as I moved slowly into the room. “Air out his smelly hide?”
I then looked at Gabriel, showing him my soft slow steps, pivoting
at the hips, scanning the room for trouble, maintaining total
situational awareness.

“Notice how I'm
moving, Gabriel?” I asked softly – as I then pivoted like
lightning and fired at a rat. The bullet flung the rodent downrange
to tumble nearly a dozen feet from where it had been when I'd shot
it.

“It may take me
some time to manage that,” said Gabriel. “Now, we do not
have sufficient ammunition for me to practice with those pistols much
– or do we? I saw two head-tall stacks of green bins in that one
white room, and I doubt they came this morning on the buggies. Did
they?”

“No, they
didn't,” I said. “We'll need to go through those, between trips
to find those things we need and packing everything we have room for
in those waterproof bags we have, and pad everything well with bath
towels and clothing in the process.”

I found the towels
but a moment later, and we became 'quite dirty' in the process of
gathering three large bags full of the things. Gabriel did
not question the why of so many towels once we got out into good
light again, as he muttered about 'dirt' and how 'seeing the hare
means getting filthier than a smelly black pig'.

“Yes, and you
know about that from the Abbey and that deep-hole,” said Karl.
“Now, do you remember that lizard?”

“Y-yes,” said
Gabriel with a shudder.

“None of those
thugs has anything on what we did in the Abbey,” said Karl. I
thought him a bit overconfident, actually. I then thought to supply
a rejoinder.

“Yes, if you
speak of most of them,” I said. “Now if we run into
Chucky, though – then we will have our hands full, as that
wretch is trouble.”

“Why is he
trouble, and who is he?” said Gabriel, who then spat an oath. This
was a first in my hearing. “Forget that I asked. I know
who that is, and I saw him in my dream last night – and Karl, if
you think Iggy was trouble – and he was that – then wait
until you encounter one of those he spoke of.”

“Specially if
it's one of them that's invisible,” I said. “You got to feel
them, and I didn't know a word about those people until Rachel spoke
of strangers that the hornets missed in Ploetzee – and hornets
don't miss much.”

“Yes, and you
got Joost's brother, too,” said Karl.

“I thought it
was Chucky out there at first,” I said. “Worst instance I
ever ran into. He had me scared more than a little, and he
nearly got me more than once.”

“Good,” said
Gabriel. “Not good that you were scared, but good that these
people you named 'Chucky' overseas will not be that capable –
as those like that man you killed out back are rare birds
indeed in the five kingdoms. Now these towels smell as if they need
washing, which means we should take them to the laundry room rather
than put them directly into our bags, as I want clean towels to dry
myself with if I am filthy with hare-dirt.”

While we were
bringing our new-found bath-towels to 'the laundry', I felt the state
of the house itself. Other than about half the usual number
of cooks for this time of day, those working in our room, the
handful of people in the king's office, and perhaps a handful of
other individuals, everyone able to labor was doing one of
several things: en route to the 'lead-site' while eating and drinking
in the back of a wagon or buggy; at the 'lead-site' moving lead from
wherever it happened to be found to the road using those two
'lead-sleds' Hans had brought to the site; loading a vehicle to
capacity with that lead and anything else that looked 'useful or
interesting' after first stuffing such articles into mail sacks;
providing security at the 'lead-site' – a handful of people,
mostly those from the Valley, with Toréo more or less in
charge of that detail, with Tam and Matthias helping as well; heading
from the 'lead-site' to the house proper at the best speed possible,
where they conveyed the lead inside the main building to a location
in the hallway near General's Row while the horses were fed, watered,
'grained', and if the chance presented itself, allowed to roll
themselves in the hay for a short time – and then the cycle
repeated itself anew, and all of this done with the best speed that
could be mustered, given the likelihood of a very long and
most-arduous day.

The lead was
gathering within direct line-of-sight of the guard post outside
Hendrik's door. I had a suspicion that what I had spoken about
getting the stuff here first and then hauling it upstairs had
been conveyed to Hendrik, and he'd told off the needed people, those
being Lukas and Gilbertus, with possibly Toréo included.

I wanted that
man helping out with guard training if he could be spared, and the
same with Annistae and Graćiella. All three of those people were
real experts – or so I thought until was again reminded
about how only my handicaps had kept me out of first a military
academy and then the regular military where I came from, and how in
the first case, I had received alternate status just the same. As
for those recruiters... I did recall my test scores as 'the highest
I've ever seen', and then some other matters that these people
probably saw in a very strange young man – someone who'd already
endured years of being under a true sadistic sociopath, a life
far worse than boot camp – complete with swearing worthy of a
old-line Drill Instructor, military-type discipline, and a lot
of physical abuse, including things, that to the best of my
knowledge, didn't happen in the military.

The military never
threatened to starve their recruits. My stepfather did, and meant
every word.

Anyone who could
down soup out of the can uncooked and eat raw bacon would call 'shit
on a shingle' tasty indeed – unless it was an actual bowel
movement laid upon a wooden piece used for roofs.

However,
along with the long hours of 'fetch, carry, unpack, clean, pack, oil,
check, make new lists, fetch more stuff, and other things that was
our lot', those
bringing lead also brought in snippets of gossip passed along by
those people transporting lead. Among these was a lot of information
regarding just what the witches had planned
to do to where I lived – namely, kill everyone in town and burn the
place to ashes. How they had planned to do so, and more, why, was a
matter sufficient to chill my marrow.

It
also meant at least one more question-session in the king's office,
and that happened sooner than expected. This time, however, Anna was
present. The woman looked as if she needed a breather of some
kind, though when Hendrik asked me about what had been planned for
Roos, I asked him.

“It's
plain, at least what she tells me,” he said. “They were planning
on taking the town, destroying it utterly, killing everyone in it,
and not much more.” Pause, then, “the parts that are not clear
are firstly, what their actual plans were, and secondly, their
motives for doing so beyond killing you and anyone who might
get in their way of doing so.”

“Their
plans were actually fairly intricate and needed detailed
communication among the various elements well in advance,” I said.
“This was in planning at least two months ago, and...”

Anna
looked at me, then said, “I might be able to read the commonplace
part fine, and explain those portions fine, but none of us can find
those portions at all quickly, and while there will be ample time in
the future, there's a mail pouch that needs to go down to that third
kingdom port along with you tomorrow when you sail, and Kees is going
to have a late night tonight inking its contents, so we need answers
now, not a week from now spent poring over a badly-organized
collection of the drink-addled ramblings of witchdom's leadership.”

“They
planned on hitting the two ends of town first,” I said. “That's
how witches usually take a well-defended town, or one where they
suspect its inhabitants are capable fighters and not commonplace
farmers.” Pause, during which I heard frantic scribbling, then,
“then, there were to be the third and fourth 'masses' of witches,
these each sneaking through the cornfields to the west and east, so
while the north and south ends of the town – the most worrisome
portions – were being 'reduced' and the sheer volume of
gunfire caused most people in town to be petrified with fear, the
third and fourth forces were to come in through the fields, chanting
curses all the while, then sneak into most of the houses silently and
wait until the ends of town were subdued entirely.”

“Which
would take some time,” said Hendrik. “Based on what I heard, it
did.”

“During
this time, those sneaking into houses were to loot them of readily
pocketed valuables, with money being especially desired. They
didn't find much money in town, but given the states of their
purses and the sheer cost of being a serious witch, any added
money in regards to a witch's purse is better than no added
money.”

“True,”
said Rolf. “Most people know witches are wealthy, but few know
that they tend to spend a lot more than is the usual, and that
because the things of witchdom are both mandated and costly.”

“Hence
always having an eye out for getting all the more money,” I
said. “Now, it wasn't just empty leather pouches these people
brought in to bag up any compact valuables they might have found.
They each brought in one or more wine-bottles filled with distillate,
and in many cases, perhaps most, each such bottle had a short fuse, a
cap, and a charge of dynamite? Correct?”

“Those
wine-bottles found hidden in most of the horse-barns did,” said
Anna. “Most homes had at least three such bottles present in their
horse-barns with the goal of placing them as the witches left and
igniting their fuses, and then two or more of those bottles had fused
sticks of dynamite tied to them firmly with tarred string.”

“Hence
they would kill the occupants and blow the houses flat if one
such bomb went off, and all those bombs going off within the space of
a minute in the center of town would create a holocaust that would
raze the town within minutes. Then, the witches who would once more
be hiding out in the cornfields would be waiting with hot guns where
they would shoot down anyone who tried to escape, and rifle their
shot-down bodies for more valuables along stripping off their
'commonplace' clothing – and then, after checking over the
destroyed town to ensure those they wanted dead were indeed dead,
those masses of witches would split up into smaller groups and head
south at their best speed so as to collect the rest of their promised
rewards in the second kingdom house.”

I
then realized where I was reading, and I pointed at it with Sarah's
rug-hook. “Right here. It goes into a bit more detail, but I got
most of it in what I just told you.” Pause, then, “here – here
is the reason as to exactly why those witches named Powers to the
south attempted Roos' destruction – which means it was decided at
the very highest levels of witchdom, and planned long and
carefully so as to secure the best possible chance of full and
complete success.”

Pause.
I could feel the pencils of at least two people poised, as this
needed to go south if anything did.

“Begin-quote:
this town be harboring a Monster, and as such, it and all
that live there, which are ye full-boughten property of ye monster,
must all be put to ye test by ye fire and sword; and if any survive
such a testing upon the altars we shall set up upon the ashes of the
town of Roos and the bones of its dead, then shall such slaves have
their choice given them upon that selfsame spot: that they die for
our pleasure with the name of ye Disgrace, or they shall kill
our chosen enemies as our witch-puppets, for it taketh a monster to
full-manifest that being which we nameth Sieve.' Finish-quote.”

I
then looked at Anna, and asked, “any news as to the current state
of the town?”

“If
they are not collapsed and insensible due to exhaustion, they are
working as if their lives depended upon it,” said Anna. “It
seems August has a signal-mirror and knows wire-code, and it was
relayed twice where Hans caught it to so as to give to me.” Pause,
then, “he did get this through clearly, though – they are
learning what your hours are like.”

“They
are?” I asked. “As in they wish they were in Berky during
its smoke-billowing worst?”

“I
am not sure they wish that, but I am sure many of them
are wondering, as August is hearing that place spoken of more than a
little,” said Anna. “Most of them might get an hour or two of
sleep when they collapse from exhaustion before he or one of his
older children wakes them up with either a stock-whip or gunfire, and
they're put to labor again – and August speaks of more than one of
them being shot down as a witch, and he doing the shooting
his-own-self with one of those new rifles.”

“Shot
down as a witch?” I asked.

“Yes,
as he saw the two shot catch fire and burn within seconds of
dropping,” said Anna. “If what I heard of you doing this morning
is any indication, then one of two things will happen: it will
either make the survivors of Roos forsake Brimstone and his things
completely for the rest of their lives, or they will turn witch –
and most of those people in here you dealt with earlier today turned
witch and are now rotting out back with the rest of the horse-dung.”

“Smells
like a burn-pile yet?” I asked.

“Right
now, no,” said Anna. “It is getting there, though, and I expect
it to be smelling a lot like one by the time you-all leave
tomorrow morning.” Pause, then, “and then, I hope I can put it
in your hands when you return.”

“It?”
I asked.

“My
violin,” said Anna. “Music kept the worst of my mother's evil
out of my life, and after what your playing Maria's guitar did, I
suspect you'll wish an instrument of some kind – though what kind
you'll need is beyond me.”

“It
is not beyond me,” said Annistæ. “He needs one like my
countrymen play, save with six strings, not eight, and solid through
and through, so it must be played wired, and then you will hear
someone as good as Roberto hijé Ion.”

“Who
is that?” gasped Anna.

“I
think it is time to get that little music-box set up,” I said.

“I
am ahead of you there, as she was asking about it,” said Sarah,
“and there is this strange metal knob here on the wall. It leads
up to this hole in the ceiling, and I think it goes all the way up to
the roof.”

I
had the radio hooked up inside of ten minutes, and not three minutes
later, I had first tuned in two 'practice signals', then a song that
took perhaps two minutes to recognize, as it was sung in a very sad
voice, and while I understood a bit more than half the words, I knew
it instantly for what it was. I handed the headphones to Annistæ.

“It
is that song about Ese Puerc, only this person is not bad,” she
said. “Now, I think I know this settlement, and they usually have
good players.” Not ten seconds later, a rapturous smile crossed
her face, and she handed it to Anna, all the while speaking
excitedly. Anna took the earphone from her, put it on her head –
and looked at me with her eyes open past 'saucer' status. She
listened for perhaps two minutes, then gave it back to Annistæ.

“Who was that,
and what were they playing?” she asked

“That, I think,
was the person she was speaking of,” I said. “Is Maria's guitar
better than Hans', or is that otherwise?”

“I think hers is
a little better, but both are fit for the orchestra,” said
Anna. “Hans has a slightly lower pitch to it when it is tuned
right, but otherwise... Why, did you play hers?”

“Cé!”
said Annistæ excitedly. “He sounded better than the
person you just heard, as that man was not Roberto hijé
Ion.”

“Better?”
asked Anna. Her tone was utterly incredulous.

“Yes,
and I heard him also,” said Sarah. “That music must be played in
every church, as then no one who wishes to be a witch will wish to
anywhere near that building or the source of such music.”

Annistæ
began tuning around slightly, then she found another song, and spat
an oath in her native language – one that was a good deal worse
than 'Rat-Dung' in ours. It seemed if one wished to speak ill of
someone or something, our current language had definite deficiencies
compared to that of El Vallyé. She handed the earphone to me,
and I listened intently. I felt sick and revolted by this piece of
music, even if it was played 'well', as the lyrics seemed to
describe someone like a fifth kingdom example of Chucky.

I'd
shot a few people like that down in that area, the worst one being
named Brumm.

“Wonderful,”
I spat. “This one must be part of this infernal list called 'Songs
of the Bad Life', as it is speaking of how this thug like Sam
Brumm made a lot of money and filled several private graveyards with
those he killed... What?”

“Yes,
what is it saying?” asked Sarah. “Here, let me. I've heard of
that type of music before.”

I
let Sarah listen, and not twenty seconds later she was spitting oaths
one after another, and growing more and more infuriated with each
second. Finally, she handed me the earphone back.

“That
was one of those songs, all right, and it wasn't just about a brigand
and the life he led,” said Sarah. “One line spoke of how his
fowling piece sang, but those do not sing, unless you
speak of killing people.”

“Cé,
that is what that line means,” said Annistæ, as she began
tuning around once more. She then brightened considerably, even as
she got the three knobs once more aligned to 'forty-two' on the main
one. I was altogether amazed that she could work with this
'touchy little brick' so readily.

“They
are saying, 'that song is not one you want to live, as it speaks
nothing but lies. That way lies death'. Now this I hear now is much
better.”

“Better?”
I asked softly.

“Cé,
this is news of this settlement some distance to the west of where I
last lived,” she said. “I stopped there on my way out of the
Valley, and I know many people there.” Pause, then, “it
is speaking of Cabroni, and how they like to live that kind of life,
and how they recently put a lot of them in their manure-hills
underground and turned their bad clothing into reinforcement for
neumatícæ.”

“News?”
I asked. “This other word? Tires of some kind?”

“Cé,
as printing equipment is scarce, and one wishes such things for
inking the type as they speak of,” said Annistæ. “Paper is
not common, but we make the best paper to be had in El Vallyé,
and we make enough to sell it to the north, but printing equipment
and things like it are scarce enough to wish its use for books of an
important nature, and there are long lists of such
books to be printed for any town that has such equipment, and it is
costly to set up and needs much repair of both the equipment and its
type – and the machine which makes type is the worst for it.”
Here, Annistæ spoke of a 'bad-pig made of cast iron and
rubbish', which I gathered was a pretty strong oath. Her look, if
anything, told me I had underestimated just how badly-regarded their
printing equipment was often regarded. Still, I was curious.

“Type?”
I asked.

“Cé,
that equipment is especially hard to keep running, as it must cast
the type, and then it does a line of such type at a time, so it takes
a long time to print a book, then such books must have their
illustrations done using copper, tar, and acid, and then finally the
leather must be prepared for binding them, which is why so many books
are writ by hand there. Mine were, or most of them, and when I was
given this one” – here, she withdrew a brown leather-bound
example, it being 'the book itself' – “it was like being given
all that I needed for living for three entire years!”

“Now
that is poor,” said Gabriel. “It sounds nearly as poor as
the third kingdom's back country.”

“No,
that part of the Valley is not nearly that poor,” said
Sarah. “Many things there are not that expensive, but printed
books are nearly worth their weight in pure-gold in most of the
Valley, and they are priced accordingly.”

“Not
the paper, nor the binding, but the printing process itself makes
them costly, correct?” I asked.

Annistæ
nodded, then said, “a book with no printing is not that expensive,
but if one wants a printed one, then one either must pay much
money, or one must go to a special place far to the north and some to
the east, which is where I had my training as a chemist. They print
many books there, but that is a journey of ten nights on the
back of a well-fed donkey, and then one must wait while the book you
wish is printed and bound, so that is several more days in that
place, and then ten nights travel back, and then the cost of such a
trip, with lodging, food, drink, and cleaning – Ai! Only the cost
of a book printed in my area is much more than that of such a trip,
and then the book itself when bought there is yet more.”

After a short break-time, during which
the earpiece was passed around and we all ate and drank, it 'was once
more off on errands', and here I
locked the door. I had Sepp with me, as well as the cart we had
brought, and I knew one thing I wanted to fetch beyond several bags
of cloth satchels in that one area.

I wanted at least
two jugs of Benzina for Annistae. It seems that she would wish it
for when our parts washer arrived, as there were a lot of old
'things' hidden in this place in various out-of-the-way corners,
rooms, and between the structural and finish walls of the place, and
while many of the things we would find would be 'worthless old junk';
and this particular Benzina, given the right chemical additives and
glassware, lent itself readily to redistillation and substantial
'improvement'.

And, she
had the very latest formulation in her ledger, which would improve
that chemical we had to no small degree, as well as provide a lot
of useful chemicals she could use, a lot of scrap wood
for paper-making – both on-site and for 'delivery' to those coming
from across the sea; and a lot of scrap metal for Frankie.

Low-carbon
wrought-iron-type scrap metal, which we were woefully short of at
this time.

“Oh, and update my maps and deal
with that one huge knife,” I said. “We'll wish all of those
satchels washed because of their smell – or will we?”

“No, not their odor,” said
the soft voice. “First, they don't have much of one, unlike those
bath towels you found, and then secondly, what odor they do have will
confuse their sniffers.”

“Oh, what of the spiders?” I
asked. I recalled the 'ropes' in that room, and while I didn't have
a spider phobia, I knew Sarah did
– and I suspected a number of cleaners found them nearly as much
trouble as Sarah.

“Just ask the witches to have
those,” said the soft
voice, “and more, ask that they have some especially suitable
examples. You can guess
what kind they want.”

“Oh, I can
guess, all right,” I spat. “Honest-to-God thirteen-stepped
prewar blue-back spiders, numbers of them to arrive in every
witch-hole worthy of the name, and each such spider having a level of
intelligence and inhabitation that not only causes them to positively
thrive in such places, but grow large, fat, cunning, and voracious –
oh, and be nearly impossible to kill, also.”

“Now what will
that do?” asked Sepp. I could all but hear him grinning.

“Why, cause the
witches trouble,” I said. “Nice big spider –
ignores curses of all kinds unless you're someone stronger than the
Mistress of the North, hides really good, bites like it's
crazy and stings like it's out of its mind, and then, of course, it
tends to be nearly impossible to corner and catch, so they will keep
on causing trouble – and then, of course, every thirty days,
they dump another batch of the little ones, so while not much happens
now, just you wait – give them a few months, and every witch worth
his fetishes, unless he's too drugged or brain-damaged to know
better, is going to be looking Brimstone straight in the eye and be
in a state of terror too great for words.”

“Lots of them
will die from that cause alone,” said the soft voice.
“Those that don't die from fear, spider-bite, or related causes –
well, let's just say those drugs that will suddenly become 'really
common' and 'really cheap' will look 'really attractive' –
and there won't hardly be a witch alive on the continent who isn't so
stinking trashed he's a walking accident waiting to happen.”

“Sounds like that will be their
doom,” said Sepp.

“Whittle them down to size a lot,
anyway,” said the soft voice. “There will still be plenty of
relatively sober plain-dressed witches, and lots of relatively sober
supplicants, but as for those black-dressed coach-riding thugs who
'have got it and flaunt it' – outside of certain well-defined
areas, by the time of this coming new year, they're going to be
fairly rare.”

“And those
others?” I asked.

“They will still
be 'relatively commonplace',” said the soft voice. “Figure one
where there are now five to seven, while where are now twenty or more
that 'have got it and flaunt it' – they're going to be down to one
impoverished witch minus his mules and coach, complete with a huge
drug habit and an even bigger desire for high-test drink.”

“Still, that's a
lot of dead witches,” said Sepp.

“Yes, if you
speak of domestic witches,” I said. “They won't be
able to mount filth columns in our rear when Norden tries to flatten
our front – and even if we get a similar percentage of Norden's
people, we are still going to have more witches than there are
people in the first kingdom if a third of those witches who
sail from that place manage landfall.” I then paused, this as we
came up the back stairs. “This floor, wasn't it?”

It wasn't. One
more floor to go, that being the fourth. I could feel that room with
the still-roosting remainder of all those jugs of Benzina procured so
long ago, and as my knees began hurting once more, I needed another
dose from the small vial packed in a small cloth 'sack' Sarah had
given me since my knees began hurting a lot.

I wondered if she
had known in advance of this problem, as this small 'satchel', along
with its longish cloth strap, was a handy thing indeed. It did not
interfere with the use of the machine pistol at all, nor did it get
in the way of my using the suppressed pistol.

“I think I might
want one of those as well as a big bag like you have,” said Sepp.
“I saw how those lay if you have to lay down to shoot – that bag
goes right to the side, and one's pack stays put.”

“This is about
as much as I want to be carrying right now,” I said. “It holds a
small bag of pistol ammunition, or rather two such bags for reloads,
a small vial of that tincture, two vials of honey, a small pouch of
dried meat and a Kuchen or two, and, uh, I think it might have some
few other things of an important nature, but it might weigh three
pounds.”

“Four pounds, as
it includes some cloth sacks for the satchels,” said the soft
voice. “Get four jugs of Benzina on that cart, and then take it to
her rooms and put it in the room with the glassware. It will be safe
there.”

“No one goes up
here,” said Sepp – who then held his tongue.

“Until recently,
that was pretty much the case,” I said. “Seems since we got rid
of the fetishes the witches have been planting all over the place,
the cleaners have been hitting 'most every place in here, even places
they've not gotten to in a ten-year, even up on the floor above us in
some places,” I said. “Only reason we aren't hearing some up
here right now is every person who can be spared right now is
moving lead, and everyone – us, Hendrik, a handful of others
excepted...”

“Maarten and
Katje!” spat Sepp.

“Are helping out
with hauling lead,” I said. “They might get some sleep
tonight, but we'll probably get the most of all in the entire house
proper tonight – and we aren't getting that much.” Pause,
then, “lots of people are getting no sleep tonight, save if
they fall asleep while riding to and from where we found that lead.”

“N-no
sleep?” Sepp asked.

“First we need
to get that lead in the house proper,” I said. “It's being
stacked so those sitting at the guard-bench can keep an easy eye on
it while it gets stacked up indoors. Then, once it's all here and
those quarrymen get their meals and their horses roll in the hay,
then everyone who can be spared is going to be trouping the stuff up
this way, and somehow, I'll bet it will all go near where
Deborah and Annistæ can keep an eye on it. I'll bet it will
get rigged good, too – perhaps a few old bandage tins with
some plastic explosive, electric caps, and, uh, mixed shot, none of
it bigger than the green-labeled stuff. Turn anyone tampering with
that lead into a pot-strainer.”

“You going to
rig that lead?” asked Sepp. His voice was the utter picture
of incredulity.

“Remember who
comes here while we're gone?” I asked. “About the usual bedtime
on the day they decide to get themselves here, General's Row will
have no one alive in it, and not three hours later the place
is going to be absolutely crawling with stinking-drunk thugs causing
a Row!”

“Oh, they will
do that, all right,” I said. “Freek can no longer find that one
place where they used to get in when he was the cult-master of the
coven that did their business here, but I would ride a tall
stack of gold monster coins that at least the leaders of that big
witch-group know not only just where that place is, but also know how
to bypass the damaged portion of the hall...”

“Already done,
no less,” said the soft voice. “They let things cool down after
the place was destroyed, then while the scavengers went to work
topside, they broke through from another portion of the secret way,
established no less than three sizable and well-furnished
way-stations where those people can hide while they're getting
themselves up here along the secret way...”

“Fumes, wasps,
hornets...”

“Yes, and a fair
number of them have died due to those, and a lot more will die
because of bugs and fumes,” said the soft voice, “which, while
not due to those causes, was allowed for in those long-plotted plans
mentioned in that document-collection you found.” Pause. “That
tome now has enough exposition in it that given a certain amount of
time, Hendrik, Maria, Rolf, Annistæ and Deborah can find much
of what is needed while you-all are gone, and the full report
will go south perhaps a week after you-all return.”

“Full report?”
I asked.

“That waits on
your labors,” said the soft voice. “It would take them
months to finish otherwise, even given Deborah's
report-writing prowess – as what the others might take weeks to
manage were they to do little else, she would take a few days;
but, she will be very busy indeed, and hence will have little
time available for 'fixing' their errors.”

Pause, then, “you
know what you can do now – and that might take you a
day's labor at the outset were you able to spare the time now – and
that to write the report unaided and then dictate it to a pair of
scribes, whose combined efforts would then be given to Kees for
inking.” Pause. “When you get back, though... You'll do so
much better than you can do now it will turn your brain twice around
and flip it three times over!”

“One of those
writing devices?” I asked. I was hoping to get a good
laptop, one with good feel to its keys and enough memory to keep up
with my thoughts without its hard drive thrashing madly. My main
computer at home had two gigabytes of memory, and a heavily optimized
operating system similar to what I had learned to use in school –
and two hard drives, both identical to one another. It was several
years old at the time of my leaving, but I'd upgraded it as money and
time had permitted.

Getting that level
of performance using the company's preferred operating system would
have required 'the latest and greatest' in all aspects, and they had
a busy IT staff keeping those things running.

“That,
partially,” said the soft voice, as we came up to the landing of
the fourth floor. As we turned onto the one hallway with the jugs,
however, I seemed to feel clearly the state of the entire building,
and while this one room – indeed, this whole floor – had plenty
of spiders...

The whole building
had lots of them, and if I were going to use spiders
on witches, I wasn't just going to deal with the ones I was going to
encounter myself getting those satchels and Benzina.

No. I wanted to
use every single such 'mobile munition' I could lay my hands upon,
just as if I could have taught Finuegen about how to cause trouble.

“So the witches
name me a monster,” I said. “Fine. They call me 'The
Monster', even. Fine. So, this one is a little present from 'The
Monster' to all of you stinkers who need your comeuppance: let
every single spider found in this building become an especially
accursed thirteen-stepped blue-back spider from prior to the
drowning, one which knows neither reason nor limit as to its hunger
or malevolence, a spider who desires the flavor of witches,
witch-slaves, supplicants, and plain-dressed witches above all other
sustenance, and desires above all other places as an abode their
especial haunts. More, let each such spider gather unto itself an
entire legion of the spirits of hell, such that it will listen to the
hunger of Brimstone for meat, and that only; and then, let such a
spider only die when it has fed Brimstone full to satiety with his
choicest meat, which is the flesh of all who stand as traitors to God
and curse him to his face every second they live!”

I
then looked at Sepp, and asked, “did I just dump a curse?”

Sepp didn't know, but when we came to the room of Benzina and rags,
its utterly dust-free nature and its complete and total lack of
spider-ropes spoke of but one thing: I had been heard, been heard
loudly, and the witches would indeed receive their due recompense.
The only area I seemingly was off was in regards to the sheer
magnitude of that which I had poured out upon them.

“Were there fewer witches,” said the soft voice, “and fewer
still inclined toward becoming witches in the days to come, and were
they limited to the five kingdoms, then what you just dumped upon
them would ultimately exterminate them to the very last man.”
Pause, then, “as it is, figure that you now only need worry
overmuch about the next few months regarding domestic witches, if you
speak of the bulk of the five kingdoms, as you didn't just get
nineteen out of twenty of those called 'pfuddaarn' in some circles.”

“What did he do?” asked Sepp, as he handed me the jugs of
Benzina while I shined my tent-lantern in to light up the room.

“Not nineteen out of twenty, not in the long run, if you speak of
most of the five kingdoms,” said the soft voice. “Those
black-dressed thug-witches that remain after the first of the year,
of those who now number themselves 'beyond counting' and name
themselves either 'the black hundreds' or 'the fortune hundreds' –
those people will be as scarce in general as they are above ground in
this area today.”

“Which means we will have a good deal of trouble finding live
ones,” said Sepp.

“No,” said the soft voice. “You won't be able to find
live ones in most regions of the five kingdoms, and I include the
fifth kingdom and the second kingdom when I say that.
Supplicants, plain-dressed witches – a bit more commonplace, but
they'll be so rare that only those truly good at hiding
what they are will yet survive, again outside of certain locations.”

“Oh, and if they
go underground?” I asked.

“Along come the
spiders, and they scent meat on the hoof,” said the soft
voice. “You can guess what happens next.”

“So, either one
must light the place up really good...”

“That might
cause the spiders to hide better, but it will not drive them away,”
said the soft voice, “and then, of course, when one uses
light-giving firebombs that extensively...”

“That will get
to them,” said Sepp. “So if they go below, they die. They stay
above ground, they get turned into pot-strainers. Now what happens
if they hole up in those big houses they like?”

“You can go
where you please, you can skid up the trees, but you cannot get away
from the bugs,” said the soft voice. “Those spiders will
like those houses, and since they can hide good, they'll eventually
get into every witch-house that still exists or is built anew.”

Pause, then, “if
there is enough greenery to provide cover for witches in a woodlot,
you can bet there will be a hornet's nest in the area – and witches
shoot every hornet they see, or they try to – which usually means
an infuriated swarm of hornets coming within a very short time.”

“Hence they get
stung a lot, and end up dead, and it's mealtime for every hornet
within miles,” I said. “One more jug, three more of those bags
of satchels, then it's off to where Annistæ's 'hiding place'
is.”

We were on our way
but a minute later, and as I led the way with my tent-lantern –
candles were still very scarce in the house, tallow, wax, whatever;
it did not matter: they had to be husbanded with great care, and I
noted those bags of candles that Deborah had spoken of seemed
'looted' extensively – I noted the still-blatant absence of dust;
and more, I noted a yet-greater absence.

The house had not
a single spider remaining in it. Not one. I thought to ask
as to their number beforehand.

“Suffice it to
say that there weren't quite enough to 'blanket' the five kingdoms,”
said the soft voice. “Still, though, when a finger-sized spider
becomes that large and that cursed, it needs to to kill
multiple times a week, if not one or more times per day so as to stay
fed – and with blue-back spiders, the more they eat, the more they
breed and the faster they grow.” Pause, then, “and, of course,
you calling them out as preflood spiders gave them a high
level of intelligence, extraordinary sensing capacity, and the
ability to breed asexually.”

“What?” I
gasped.

“The prewar
thirteen-stepped spider needed to breed once during its several-year
lifespan,” said the soft voice. “The preflood spider, in
contrast, not only lived much longer – up to a hundred
years, in certain cases, but it continued growing in size, appetite,
and intelligence until it eventually died – and since all
such spiders were females, all of their 'eggs' were fertile, they
dumped large numbers of spiders regularly, and the
newly-emerged baby spiders had more smarts when just born than a
modern-day white rat has when it's three-feet long in the body –
and that apart from cursing them.” Pause, then, “giving
each such spider a legion of demons just made them that much
bigger, meaner, smarter, and deadlier.”

“And I cursed
them,” I moaned.

“Oh, don't worry
about that,” said the soft voice. “You just did what has been
done before by other 'strongly-marked' people – only what
they did and what you just did has little real grounds
for comparison.” Pause, then, “besides, don't you think you've
got enough trouble to the north and the west without
being stabbed in the back by a bunch of people that want you dead
worse than anything?”

“Sounds like you
got long-enough odds stacked against you the way it is now,”
said Sepp. “Now where is this place we have to take these jugs?”

“Up ahead, some
distance in...”

I knew just where
the place was, and I led the way at the best pace my legs could
manage. The stairs in this place made electric scooters of the kind
common where I had once lived unworkable, but had there been ramps,
and one had been available, I would have used it enthusiastically:
and when I came to that one long hallway that led to the glassware
room, I noted several reddish handprints that obviously did not
belong there.

“So they
have maps of the place, good ones no less, and they thought to
cause trouble here,” I spat. “You fingerprints, go find
the throat of a witch or three and choke those stinkers straight into
the arms of Brimstone.”

The fingerprints
vanished with a huge bluish-white flash, one that nearly put me on my
posterior several feet downrange, and I asked, “now who is
getting laryngitis?”

“Nearly a dozen
witches just had their heads ripped off in a large 'abode' in one of
the fourth kingdom's tonier districts, and as the gunfire in that
market town starts up again, you can figure that Rolf is going to
come home to a kingdom that is altogether different from the one he
left.”

“What?” I
gasped.

“You'll get to
the third kingdom port long before he leaves the first kingdom's
southern border,” said the soft voice, “and the riot that is
now brewing up in that market town is going to be the biggest
one in several hundred years.”

“Sounds like you
got to some big witches,” said Sepp. “Now is this one of those
big stinky places witches like?”

“Outwardly, no,”
said the soft voice. “Inside – yes, and it's no ordinary
example. The only places worse for their interiors would be the
carriage district in the second kingdom, and that 'family' more or
less ran that market town and the surrounding area.”

“Boermaas?” I
asked. “Were they involved there?”

“They bought,
negotiated, bankrolled, built and are building much of both the town
and the school,” said the soft voice. “That will have little
effect on what happens there, but the same cannot be said for that
market town. Listen.”

Faintly, on the
edge of hearing, I could hear a brief spattering of gunshots, and
over the ensuing seconds, it swelled to 'Gettysburg' levels – from
whence it grew in sound and fury by the second.

“Trouble is,
with all the witch-trouble that has happened lately, every shopkeeper
and other person in that area has been buying all the powder,
thimbles, shot, and lead they possibly can, while building 'safe
areas' inside their homes and shops. Figure the odds are going to be
stacked a lot higher against the witches this time, as that
many of their leaders suddenly dying that way means but one thing,
according to the tenets of any well-kept large black book.”

“What?” asked
Sepp.

“Why, the
obvious,” said the soft voice. “The black book states that kind
of sudden demise to be 'ye work of ye monster', and therefore, the
following must take place: the witches must declare themselves
to be the true masters of the entire fourth kingdom, they will
assay wholesale – and I mean wholesale, as in what they
planned to do to Roos – reprisals upon that market town and the
region surrounding it, as well as the house proper; they will rob,
loot, pillage, rape, and murder everyone they possibly can; they will
attempt to set that entire market alight...”

“Oh, boy,” I
said. “That isn't a riot. That's a full-scale war,
and more, it's a war that the witches are going to lose big-time.”

“More than just
'lose big-time',” said the soft voice. “It isn't just the
shopkeepers and householders that have been stockpiling supplies and
bunkering their buildings. The king, before he left, called in every
battery he could from the whole kingdom, had them hid according to
some very old plans drawn up not a hundred years after the curse when
the witches last tried for the area in real strength, hid his
gun-teams, their horses and supplies all over using Willem's dictated
advice, and told everyone he trusted that he expected nothing short
of a full-scale war for the kingdom to happen 'before three months
occurs' – and he approached the matter as if he had three days
to get ready, so between the witch-wars that have been happening
recently, and what has just happened in that quarter, it has
finally come to the showdown.”

“They aren't
just going to 'exact revenge',” I said. “This time it's for all
the bullets.”

“Exactly, and
it's starting up now,” said the soft voice. “It may take
a week before the gunfire starts to die down, but you can expect huge
smoking mounds of dead witches by the time this one
finishes up – and while there will still be some witches in
that town afterward, those people are going to be laying very low
indeed for a time.”

“Till they get
big drug habits going and decide 'now is the time',” I said.

“That's when
they more or less get wiped out, as after this business, the central
portion of the fourth kingdom is going to be totally without mercy
regarding witches. No, not a bit. They'll kill anyone who looks,
acts, talks, thinks, or smells like a witch, just like it was right
after the curse struck and one had to daily prove the absence of evil
in all possible ways.”

“Oh, that will
work – mostly,” I said. “Some witches did that better than the
'righteous'.”

“True, but their
capacity to work real mischief is going to be very limited,
even compared to what it was before you-all dealt with the Abbey –
and no, they'll not manage that trick while using those drugs.”

All this, and no
more spiders for Sarah. For an instant, I wondered if spiders laid
eggs, then knew: of course they did.

“Yes, if they're
common ones,” said the soft voice. “Those you sent to the
witches, though – those bear live young in numbers, with the
newly-emerged spiders ravenously hungry, altogether lethal and
all-too-ready to kill and eat.”

“At least we
have bags for these satchels,” I said, as I reached for the
doorknob and the door opened apart from my touch, much as if it knew
who I was and my business here. Inside, the work of a minute; the
jugs next to the wall, out of the way, yet easily found by Annistae
and our people when it was time: then pull the door to, hear the
tumblers clicking in their myriad multiples of possible combinations,
and we were off, heading once more for the back stairway, portaging
the cart when the stairs demanded it and otherwise trading off
pulling the thing with its cargo of stuffed cloth sacks full of
satchels.

I was once more
wondering about nails, and again, I knew I needed to work on that
knife.

“Now that was a
quick trip,” said Deborah, who had obviously just arrived. Her
winded nature, as well as that of Karl and Gabriel, spoke of three
heavily laden individuals hurrying with all possible haste. I had
but one question for them.

“Lead?” I
asked.

“More comes in
the house by the minute,” said Gabriel. “They stack the bricks,
row upon row, long side to each other, short side to the wall, all of
them where those setting the bench may watch over them.”

“Shorter
distance upstairs, also, even if those narrow stairs will only...”
I then laughed. “Hand-over-hand to each floor, then repeat twice
more, and oh, Annistae?”

“Cé?”
she asked. “Is this that cleaning solvent that I can redo so it
works better at all save causing illness?”

“Well how
did you know?” I asked in mock indignation. “Four jugs, just to
the wall inside that one room with the marked doorknob. Now, I need
to see my maps, and I need to do something with them, and then
something really weird with that one large knife I confiscated
yesterday. I did up one in the king's office, but that one needs to
stay here. This other, I'll take it there for analysis – and
cutting up bricks of that explosive.”

The two ledgers
proved to be bagged and tagged, all three of them, just inside my
pack. A moment's digging, and first, the one having the maps of the
house proper. I put it upon the floor, did a press-up upon it, and
prayed my very hardest.

The explosion
tossed me to land upon my back with my head but inches from a very
sturdy dark-stained shelf, or so I thought it to be until Sarah spoke
of it being made of solid blackwood.

“That is the
best-made shelf I have ever seen, and it looks to be kiln-dried,
kiln-glued, and its finish kiln-set, so it should stay good long
enough.”

“Centuries,
dear,” said the soft voice. “That isn't ordinary blackwood –
that's pressure-treated laminated blackwood, and that type is
not only far stronger than the usual kind, but it's utterly
impervious to dry-rot and the other fungal organisms endemic to this
part of the first kingdom.”

“Must be hard to
get,” said Karl, as he came back with his bags of provisions, along
with Sarah holding a bag herself as I looked for the other ledgers.

They too had
changed, this utterly, with color-coding showing piping, secret
passages, and much else for the house proper, while the one having
the map of the kingdom house was now done much as if it were a Thomas
Guide, only far more detailed and with a lot of printed information
in it. I then listened to my nose, and for a second, forgot my eyes.

The odor spoke of
peppered dried meat, dried vegetables, dried cherries – there were
lots of those – and the first sizable amount of a vast store
of drowned kuchen. We would get more of those as they came out of
the oven, and bag as many of them as we could. I then spoke of that
matter as I withdrew that one 'huge' knife. Deborah had hers, and
needed a scabbard for it. More riveting and sewing, though that
would be as a break from other labors, and more, we would need two
such scabbards, even though I did not plan on wearing mine.
Deborah – good question. She'd need to be asked about hers, even
though both were sharp enough to need leather to protect their users
from being cut. I then returned to the idea of honey-drowned Kuchen
thick with rehydrated minced cherries.

“Those things
will need bagging,” I said, regarding the Kuchen.

“I know, which
is why I procured many fresh-laundered bags,” said Sarah.
“Now, for a mortar for that dried meat, and then we can set to
grinding it while you check the lists we have and do what you need to
do to that blade there.” Pause, then, “that laundry is steamy as
a fourth-kingdom print-house with all those bath-towels, and the two
there are working as if they had the lash put to them by Tam
his-own-self.

I soon found that
a corner of the long dark-stained 'laminated' table was reserved for
my use, and as I condensed three part-filled lists into one somewhat
longer one, I noted a state of most-intense industry in the room
about me. There was a most-definite order in the air, for it was
becoming obvious that while Tam and Lukas thought they knew about
'campaigning', Annistae was a true expert at the matter; and
when Graćiella showed, the two of them working as a team
accomplished more than any five of us – myself not included – if
those of us other than myself worked at our utmost capacity.

“Lead?” I
asked.

“Yes, there is
still much lead to bring in,” she said. “I needed more
ammunition for our shooters and some of those driving, so I am to
bring out two small satchels of it, as well as a bag of grénadæ.”

“Two small
satchels?” I asked.

“Cé,
as we have but five shooters watching the place with the lead, myself
excepted,” she said, “and we have made ourselves hides, and no
Cabroné can come within five hundred metrâè
unless he wishes to die,” she said. “One of the shooters is
another woman, and she shoots better than any of us, and her rifle is
a special one, one that she alone may shoot.”

“Esther,”
I said. “If a witch shows himself...”

“Not
merely when she sees one in the open,” she said. “More than once
she shot into a clump of trees, or a large bush, and it exploded like
it was filled with bad mining explosives, so the Cabroni are
littering the ground as they try to fetch that lead, and they leave
behind documents and coin-purses, among much else.”

“Which
need tongs to handle,” I spat, regarding the coin-purses. “Small,
but well-stuffed?”

“Cé,
some are,” she said, as she gathered up some bagged 'all-purpose'
bullets as well as two bags of those infernal hollow points, and then
several magazines for 'ranged' weapons, especially rifle and
machine-pistol magazines. Her eyes then lit upon the rocket launcher
– the only one we had, as far as I knew.

“Try
looking in those just-arrived bins,” said the soft voice. “You'll
wish one for the house here, also, as well as a good supply of
rockets for both launchers.”

“No,
not many,” she said. “We might wish ten of them. You will wish
all of them you can carry, almost, as there are many things that will
wish rockets where you are going.”

“Ten?”
I asked.

“Yes,
as some of these rockets are very special,” she said. “They need
a special viewer, and they look very strange in their front parts
when you take their cap off, but if you set them right, then nothing
of Cabroni can escape them unless it goes to visit that big lizard on
its own.”

“Oh,
those things,” I giggled. “Thermal recognition seeker
heads.”

“That
is what they are,” she said. “We shall wish those heads and
the regular type, as they are scarce things right now and usually
they are not needed.” Pause, then, “though if we must guard that
lead at night, then we shall wish them, as they see in the dark like
these large night-birds they have in this area.”

“Howls,”
said Sarah. “Now I saw a large stone mortar in this room off of
the main kitchen here, but it was big enough to need that cart and
help lifting it...”

Karl
went with her, the cart in tow, while I resumed laboring upon my
still-growing list. I was becoming aware of a last instance of
questioning that would come soon, though with this, this was to
'arrange' the report to go outside with us upon the morrow. More, I
knew we had but a handful of hours to finish our packing and secure
our supplies. I also needed to work on that one knife, but that
needed a period of rest and food before I attempted it, and it was
mostly a matter of 'get it done before we sleep tonight' – or so I
thought as I began wiping it down with a rag while reading the list.
I was surprised I could do both things passably, until I recalled
recently getting a dose. I suspected another would help, and I got
it from the 'special' vial, the one with the crushed pills in it. My
head then cleared so fast I was stunned, and I could actually
'multitask' efficiently, so much so that the wiping was an automatic
matter save near the sharp portions of that huge 'rigging knife'.

I
then knew the real labor would begin for us shortly, as upstairs, we
would be cleaning up Annistæ's laboratory further, and also
setting the place up for her work to begin at once – and then,
finally, our real packing would begin, as only then we
would know what we would need.

“No
generator engine yet,” I murmured – though at the back of my
mind, I wondered. Could we wait months while I cast, forged,
and machined the parts? Weeks, even? Was I not told I needed
to practice doing such matters, much I as doing with this
knife?

As
if to remind me of this matter, Gabriel returned, from whence I could
not fathom, and this with a leathern scabbard, this badly done save
for its overall shape. What he pulled out, however, made for
wondering, as while this was indeed a corn knife – it said so, in
neatly etched letters on the shank of the blade, what I had in
mind...

I
stood up from the table, then while standing, I asked him to bring a
stool and the knife in question, laying down the now-gleaming rigging
knife. I could finish it later, unlike what Gabriel needed
now. The stool he brought, while 'sturdy enough' for the time
being, would be fit for paper by the end of the summer, and a strange
thought occurred to me.

“Those
generals,” I muttered. “Not enough to just let matters take
their course. They had some of that odd culture that makes wood go
rotten in a big hurry, and they broke into the boatwright's shop on a
semi-regular basis...”

“Yes,
when there weren't shifts going in there round-the-clock, which is
not rare there,” said the soft voice. “Still, however,
they could and did seed every wooden item with those spores when and
where they could.”

“Is
that why this chair looks as if it might give way if I sat on it
carelessly?” asked Gabriel, as he laid this odd-looking age-pitted
blade upon it. I looked at the ancient thing with a consuming
interest; it was almost as if I could “picture
what would be, that thing so limitless and free, so in need of a
stranger's hand, in a desperate land, y'know, a Desperate
land...”

“Yes,
quite likely,” I said, that infernal song-snatch still pounding
like rumbling thunder in my brain.. “Then again, dry-rot is a big
problem up here, so they just hasten the inevitable unless wood is
used that is resistant to dry-rot and that other bug, like blackwood
and some of the other harder woods that are used now and then.”
Pause, then, “I hope I can use that type of wood for
gunstocks, in fact.”

I
then saw the new shape of the blade, and it would, indeed, be
fit for 'the stranger with no name'. It was seeming to come through
to my inner vision, it was trying very hard to come through, yet the
ancient curses set upon it would not turn it loose from its slavery
to hell. I pointed my finger at it, for this was not some
witch-forged thing of rust, slag, and grime; this...

This
was once a witch-forged blade, one that was old at the time of
Cardosso, made by a third-rate witch as a blade for killing people as
per its master's inclination of the moment, so as to pave the streets
with corpses and cement the cobbles with blood.

I
was not such a being. I was a monster; more, I was the
Monster; and I wished Gabriel to have a blade, one he could hide
readily in his clothing, yet bring it forth quickly and cleave a way
to a new tomorrow, one where his name, whispered in dread speech by
the witches upon land and sea...

The
hood, no eyes to be seen, not even those rimmed by the eternal
glimpse into hell that was the mark of the true-witch. Truly, one
could not see even the outline of a face. It was as if dusty
gray-yellow clothing, clothing that had been made animate and affixed
with a will of adamant, had arrived; one with a high price upon it,
for now, the witches had cursed it to its face, and...

They
had sown the wind. Now, they would reap the whirlwind; and knowing
that, and knowing no hope save that found in destruction and
slaughter, it would give him strength and resolve beyond imagining.
The wood of the stool beneath the blade was going to a fine gray
dust, this slowly powdering down to the floor, while the blade, now
hazed with blue, was coming in harder, darker, stronger...

I
could now clearly see the lanyard loop, that which secured the
blade to its user's wrist, then the sculpted and riveted handle of
'carbon-impregnated laminated blackwood', this filled with resin
under pressure and both riveted and bonded to the handle; and as I
recalled what I had needed to do to Deborah's rigging knife, I placed
both hands upon the blade and the now-crumbling chair, and a dusky
blackness seemed to billow out from among my fingers. The blade's
steel was a poor material, originally from the green areas of
L'amerika, but Gabriel – 'the man with no name' – needed the very
best weapon he could possibly get.

Three
units of 'full-minted witch-gold' was enough to set up any witch upon
the continent 'for life', given reasonable care and 'safe'
investments; given a tendency toward more effort and greater risk,
that amount of seed money could easily become the twin of the net
worth of the Blomfels' combine within a matter of years.

“The
dirt is continuing to flow out of it, but I need a rag,” I
mumbled with the effort of dealing with a recalcitrant blade. For
once, Gabriel seemed to read my mind. He had a sack of the things,
well-washed, and as I removed the blade from the chair, the chair
went to dust upon the instant – and the blade, formerly perhaps
fourteen inches from tip to handle – was now closer to eighteen
inches in length.

More,
it had a strange shape, and as I dirtied up rag after rag, I
could feel that shape changing with each long smooth stroke. Each
time I dirtied a rag, I left it by my side, but as I rubbed, again, I
noted a difference.

The
former roughness and rust-pitted aspect was gone. Now, the blade had
a matte finish, one of a wondrous smoothness, with a thick spine
nearly three-eighths of an inch thick running along much of the back
of the blade, and slightly thinning, into the handle – the blade
was over a quarter of an inch thick there, with a full-tang
construction – and then what looked like the beginnings of a temper
line showing, one that ran from the tip of the blade and along the
swell of the thing, its slight curving bend, the utter absence of
anything 'strange'; and the thoughts that ran through my mind as I
rubbed, were “Gabriel needs a good blade, one he can hide readily,
yet will cut people in half.”

That
thought along caused the blade to change shape slightly, acquiring
more of a bend in its middle, the temper line coming through clearer
and sharper with each stroke, and as the rags gathered less and less
dirt, I now knew it was time to ask for something special.

And
yet, I did not have to, as this blade suddenly acquired a
most-familiar tag. It had a long list of metals stamped into its
tin, and the wire now found on the lanyard loop made for wondering.
The only portion I did not wonder at was the phrase, this in bold
black letters, “high-alloy 'exotic' tool
steel.”

Faintly,
as if from far away, I could hear voices, but my thoughts were alone
upon my labors, and the darker and deadlier bluish tint as the blade
began to shine and gleam made me wonder once more – would this dark
blue blade with its wavy whitish edge have an appetite for death,
like a particular black sword I had heard of? A weapon with a mind
of its own? Especially cursed, its true material a black demon, one
hungry for death and blood and needing constant feeding, much as if
its owner resembled Joost's twin – the owner of that particular
sword in those stories?

I
shook all of that off, as I was no devil. I'd sliced on the
devil, and our dislike of each other was a mutual matter. I did not
wish to deal with him again, and I rather doubted he wanted me
in his world, for it was just as I had been told: 'mad dogs'
were not welcome in hell.

I
then received confirmation: I was doing what had been done before
long ago, it being writ in a number of old tales, and as the dirt
finally vanished and the steel began to subtly press down and link
its constituents together, I could see the voids vanishing in the
blade. I had a lot to rub, even in the gold-colored handguard – it
wasn't gold; it was that strange 'brass' that was at once incredibly
hard, tough, and corrosion resistant, and the wood itself; and as the
steel and its constituents continued bonding together, I noted the
weight of the blade.

It
weighed an easy half pound less than when I started, even if it was
now longer than 'the sting of the hornet'. I then had a name for it:
'the mark of the nameless one', and as if my thoughts had
strength beyond imagining, small deep-etched Hebrew letters formed on
the brass guard, these burning blue-white with fire.

Another
minute, this of vigorous rubbing, and no longer could I see a single
void anywhere. I set the blade down upon the floor, and as I had
done with Deborah's rigging knife, I pointed my finger at the blade.

This
time, however, was so different from the former instance I knew not
what to make of it, for the blade seemed absolutely enveloped in
bluish-white fire, this blasting out from my fingertip, and I said,
this in a voice at once strangely deep-pitched and cold-sounding,
that of a machine or an alien, “become as cold as cold can possibly
be, and drink deeply of a mixture of compacted tetracarbon
monoxide, 'high-energy' argon, 'double-energy' nitrogen, and
molybdenum nitride.”

The
blade then became buried in a thickly smoking foot-tall mound
of frost.

“Now
we wait,” I said, my voice weak, sick-sounding, and most of all
hungry. Someone gave me a vial, the contents honey, and I gulped
down the syrupy liquid unthinkingly. Someone else led me back to the
table by my slack and groping hand, much as if I were incurably
nearsighted and without the glasses of my former life, and strangely
enough, though my eyes were fogbound to a degree beyond belief, I was
being 'spoon-fed' bits of toasted bread slathered with cherry jam.

“I
am feeding you,” said Deborah. “I thought what happened to my
knife was strange enough, but what you did out there is beyond
belief.”

“You
are f-feeding me?” I asked, as I tried to see Deborah through the
billowing smoke. I then looked down and saw that the knife I had
been working on earlier was thickly frosted and billowing smoke also.

“I
think what you said and did got to this one also,” she said. “Mine
will make hair jump, it is so sharp, and the rainbow it has is unlike
anything I have ever seen. What else is strange, though, is the
pictures.”

“Picture?”
I asked.

“There
are two, one on each side of its handguard,” said Deborah. “One
is the prism, and I was told what it meant and why you were given
that marking for your work, but on the other side, there is a bee,
and it looks very irritated.”

“It's
named, then,” I said. “It's tied to you, and no one
else can use it safely.”

“And
I have no idea as to what you did to that thing outside, but I think
its leather is worthless,” said Gabriel. “It gained an easy four
inches in length as you handled it, you dirtied up a small mountain
of rags that are changed in some strange way, such that Annistæ
will wish to make paper out of them, and then, there was what I saw
happening while you were working on it. Your hands were glowing a
solid blue-white like lightning, and sparks were coming off of them
like small bolts of lightning.”

“Yes?”
I mumbled, as I moved to the side. The smoke boiling off of that
rigging knife made me wonder what had happened, and the also, the
constituents of such 'smoke'.

“Mostly
solidified nitrogen, with a bit of 'high-energy argon' thrown in,”
said the soft voice. “The one out there, however, received that as
its inner coat. The outer coat is solid helium, for a
full cryogenesis.”

“What?”
I gasped.

“You
were asking for a very unusual blade, and you got one,”
said the soft voice – who then spoke specifically to
Gabriel. “You will receive your war-name across the sea, but your
reputation will begin in the port, and dread whisperings shall follow
in your wake – as they will see nothing, almost as if your clothing
was tied to heaven by invisible strings and it removed arms, legs,
heads, and other things as easily as if you were using a war-ax like
that one that was in Hendrik's museum.” Pause, then, “that type
of sword is known for its capacity in that way, and in the
mountainous region where their use is common, almost everyone old
enough to labor has one – and yes, that region produces some
particularly fierce soldiers who use such weapons, often to
devastating effect.”

“I
could teach you how to use that type of 'knife' in about ten minutes,
as they're not really intended for 'swordsmanship'. You pretty much
just swing the thing at whatever you want to remove, and if
you're intent is sure and you put some strength into the blow –
well, that body part is probably going to fall to the ground.”
Pause, then, “I'd remove heads as much as possible, as not even a
hard-witch retains functional capacity without his head.”

“I'll
remember that, as those who try for me will be especially motivated,”
said Gabriel. He then sniffed, and said, “aquavit. We need
aquavit, strong aquavit and plenty of it, this for cleaning a
great many things, and those boxes against the wall need to be looked
in for things we might need.”

I
had to hand them down, but between Annistæ and Graćiella, I
could hear excited speech. The latter found something truly unusual,
and when I turned, I noted Sarah speaking of how to use what she'd
found, that being a suppressed pistol. I knew there were more
of those in these boxes: they just needed us looking for them.

“Not
just that,” I said, as I handed down another of the bins. “Look
for an improved clockwork marvel pistol. I suspect there are
at least three or four in these bins, and the improved ones are
actually worth bothering with.”

“Yes,
and what are they?” said Graćiella. “Are these pistols
that injure the hands?”

“They
can, yes, but they are not the really big ones,” I
said. “I have an 'improved' one in my possible bag, and while I
need to study the manual to learn how to dismantle them so as to
properly clean them, the improved ones tend to not misbehave nearly
as much.” Pause, then, “their only real problem is how
hard they are to dismantle and clean properly – and with our old
propellants, that means pretty much 'if you shoot it, you need to
clean it as much and as often as you can.”

“They
are very dirty, non?” asked Annistæ. “It is like the
powder I use for my pistol.” Here, she paused, dug around a bit,
then let out a yell so high-pitched that I nearly dove for the
floor. As it was, I had nearly jumped under the table, and only the
presence of Sarah and Deborah had prevented me from doing so.

“Ai,
this pistol is a good one,” she said. “I can say its words, but
they are not ones I have seen before, and it is a large one, one like
I have fired before.”

“Cé,
and you needed to go to a Téatré to have your hands
worked on after,” said Graćiella. “Remember how I needed to
splint them and then dose you for pain?”

“Yes,
but I got that one big Cabroné, and it put him down for good,”
said Annistæ. “He was wearing plate, and that bullet went
through it.”

I
came over to look at what Annistæ was holding, and asked to
'handle' the weapon. A glance at it, and I nearly screamed.

“I-it's
a Webley!” I screeched. “A four-forty-two Webley!
Now do we have ammunition for it?”

“Cé,
and much of it,” said Graćiella. “It is like a common pistol,
like most have where we once lived, only larger, and its cârtuchæ
are longer and larger.”

“May
I look at one?” I asked. I meant the cartridges.

I
was handed a small cloth bag, this with a stamped tin tag, and upon
untying the knot, I drew out one of the rounds. The thick brass rim,
and overall 'stout' aspect of the cartridge made for wondering, but
when I held it up to my ear and shook it, I could hear nothing.

“This
thing is full,” I gasped.

“Yes,
and only those you name 'hand-howitzers' recoil harder,” said the
soft voice. “However, unlike those pistols, these are very
easy to maintain, quite accurate, and easy to reload.”

“Probably
kick bad,” I said. “Going to want... Why did this arrive?”

It's
one of several,” said the soft voice. “That one is so you can
take it overseas and have it copied, as if you look in that other
bag, you notice not merely its cleaning kit, but also a memory card
in its holder containing the code needed to produce those weapons.”

“A
four-forty-two Webley?” I gasped. “This thing is fit for,
uh, dirty what-was-his-name!” The man in question, a
Gendarme, was notorious for the use of powerful large-bore
pistols and his tendency to skirt official procedures in order to
ensure he got the thug or thugs he was after.

He
did tend to get them – and they usually tended to have their
smelly hides aired out well. I then realized that while there
were no 'official procedures' here, I tended to use an
elephant gun.

“That
design scales readily, and more, such ammunition can be loaded 'down'
for more-manageable recoil levels,” said the soft voice. “That
ammunition right there will drop a hard-witch inside of fifty yards,
and that if you hit him solidly anywhere in the torso. Center his
chest – he'll be dead before he hits the ground, and the same for
head-shots. Common witches could use lighter loadings, as that
pistol there will still hit with real authority when loaded
down to manageable levels.”

“Manageable?”
I asked.

“Seventeen
grams of a hard-lead bullet driven at just under the speed of sound,”
said the soft voice. “Then it's a bit of a handful, wants both
hands, but it won't break your bones or leave your hand numb –
and that large of a slug will drop thugs reliably, even fairly hard
ones. The full-power rounds, on the other hand – all they give up
to those big pistols you call hand-howitzers is about a line's worth
of bullet diameter. Otherwise, their effects and range upon thugs is
more or less identical.”

“Nice
to have an eight-point-five millimeter one, say, with a twenty-five
millimeter case loaded with medium-burning flake powder.”

“That
will be the most-popular size overseas, and quite popular here,
also,” said the soft voice. “Look in another bin, and you'll
find one – though I warn you about that pistol.”

“Why?”
I asked.

“It
might not have the size or heft of a four-forty-two, but it's still
quite a handful when loaded 'hot' – a bit worse than those
suppressed pistols when using the 'hot' ammunition, and far deadlier
than your usual revolver, as that size takes a jacketed ten
gram bullet.”

“Full
metal jacket, or..?”

“What
amounts to a soft-point showing a fair amount of lead,” said the
soft voice. “They hit hard enough to drop most witches if you hit
them solid. Only hard-witches and those northern people will want
'two in the chest and one in the head' with those.”

“Best
to have a four-forty-two for them,” I said, as I moved aside
the pistol and found another 'four-forty-two'. These were sizable
revolvers, fully as large as that one man's dragoons, but when I
unlatched the rear latch and opened it, the sheer ease of opening –
the star-shaped ejector snapped out as it came fully open and then
snapped back with a soft click – and the aspect of overall
'aerospace' precision made for gasping.

“This
thing is as tight as anything,” I spluttered as I tried wiggling
it. There was no play anywhere with this weapon. “It may
work easily, but drilling thugs at a good distance is going to be
easy!”

“You
did not look at the sighting apparatus on those,” said the soft
voice. “They have adjustable sights, so you can adjust for range
and windage.”

However,
as I was finding 'goodies', I could hear talk in the background, and
when I smelled the nose-incinerating reek of aquavit, I saw Gabriel
being shown by Sarah how to wipe down those green clubs we had taken
from those functionaries. Her explanation was short, to the point,
and explicit.

“We
wish our gear sanitized,” she said, “as not all of their spies
are people. They have a great many things, including
these devices that have noses like scent-hounds, and we do not
wish those devices alerting those who are the masters of those
blue-dressed thugs.”

“Hence the use
of aquavit,” I said. “It absolutely kills the 'odorants' they
put into those clubs, and then we take only our clothing,
and... Those things they have called sniffers – they're really
sensitive.”

“Like that one
scent-hound,” said Sarah. “That was a pure-bred Breganz dog,
Gabriel, and what they have over there is so strange that I have
trouble believing it, but that shower was enough to give me an idea
as to what they might have.”

“Shower?”
asked Gabriel, as he rubbed down a club. He was not wasting time,
but he was being careful to wipe all of the club, and
more, do so twice so as to not miss any spots.

“Good,” I
murmured, as I found a small plastic box and handed it to Graćiella.
“Here are those special seeker heads. I hope... Oh, they have
some overseas.”

“Not like those
they do,” said the soft voice. “That's just one box. You have a
total of five such boxes, and I would advise taking four boxes of
them with you while setting aside three of those things for them to
examine.” Pause, then, “that will save them a lot of
time.”

“Uh, why?” I
asked. “All that secret research?”

“They'll find
that fast enough, but there's enough documentation that looks as if
those writing it were far gone in Geneva that they'll have to guess
quite a bit in order to get ones that work. Having a few of those
on hand means no guesswork is needed, and you'll go home with
full boxes of them and much more besides.”

“And now, a rocket-launcher,” I
said, as I removed the pieces to another launcher, this with two
'viewers', or, as I learned upon looking at the placard on the second
and larger one, a visor. “Remember to wipe ours down good
with aquavit inside and out, someone – those sniffers will smell it
otherwise, and we will have trouble.” Pause, then, “best take
some containers of aquavit with us in case we need to use it while
we're sailing.”

“Urgh, I know,” said Deborah. “I
was shooting this thing, and that I liked a good bit, but now I must
clean it, and that part is not, urp, fun at all.” A second
later, then, “that was the second time I spewed with this stuff.”

“What is it, Komaet?” I asked.

“N-no, but it came from the house's
distillery here, and it's so strong it's trying to light my nose on
fire,” said Deborah. “I was told they run nearly a vat a day
through that still, and it makes this stuff in one run.”

“I put a taller column in it with
more stripper plates than the usual number, as something told me it
was a good idea.”

“Yes, I think so,” said Annistæ.
“That is some very strong Alkoli, such that all it needs is
thirty parts of fuel to one of saw-oil, and then I could use it to
run a fuel-saw.”

“What?” I gasped. I then
wondered, “does Annistæ want
a fuel-saw? We do cut a lot of firewood up here, and save for the
noise, those do sound likely – and the same for falling trees, come
to think of it. Most of our lumber trees aren't that big.”

“Yes, I have used them,” said
Annistæ. “This one had a forty-five centime bar to it, and
its engine was a fifty-five, so it could cut wood quickly.”

“Fifty-five?” I asked. “What
did it sound like?”

“Like an angry cat, one which is
long-haired and of dark gray color,” said Annistae. “The smaller
ones can turn up to twelve thousand revolutions, though one does not
wish to hold them there, as they become too hot then.” Pause,
then, “I usually turned my high needle out a bit and the same for
my low one, and mine ran good
when it was my turn on a wood-cutting detail.”

“What does
fifty-five mean?” I asked. “Is that the model number or..?”

“That is the
engine size,” said Annistæ. “There are three types, one
which uses the piston as its intake controller, another that uses
these thin brass strips for a demand-valve, and the best type, which
uses a disk for its intake. Those like that are strange, and need
much work to run their best, but if you must cut wood and wish to do
so quickly, then that is the type you want.”

“Rotary valve,”
I murmured. “Gobs of power, so much so that when you hit the
trigger it jumps up a foot and a half from the engine torque
reaction.” I'd once tuned a saw that 'jumped' nearly as much,
though I suspected what Annistæ was referring to not only had
more displacement, but about twice the power.

After all, hers
ran alcohol, which made more power than gasoline where I
lived, and I had a hunch alcohol here was like model
airplane fuel where I came from – and not the weaker type,
either. The saw in question was a 'professional' model, one that
needed to be treated with care and respect.

“Cé,
that is what they do,” said Annistæ. “They go through a
thirty centime log in the time it takes to count to five quickly when
they are set good, and I always went over my saw before I left my
home when I was to go on a woodcutting detail.” Pause, then, “I
had to pay more to buy it, and work on it much, but I had one of
those with the disk for the intake.”

“You
had one?” I gasped.

“Cé,
as that size works well for much that involves wood,” said Annistæ.
“There is one thing they do not work well on, though, and
that is Cabroni.” Annistæ said this with a distinct
tone of distaste, as if she were trying to say 'Eew' and not quite
managing it.

“What?”
shrieked Deborah. “You took a saw to a witch?”

“Cé,”
said Annistæ. “The saw cut him in half, but it took me two
days of labor to get that Cabroné out of my saw, and I knew
better then to just use a pistol for such, but he surprised me, as
such saws are very noisy and I was busy cutting wood, so when
he shows, I just turn around on him, squeeze the trigger all the way,
and slice him in half before I could count to two, and then my saw
was all bloody and I was all bloody, but it was him or me, and
I was glad I was alive, even if I needed a bath right away and my saw
needed to be taken apart entirely and then cleaned and oiled.”

I
was then most surprised at the heft of one such bin, and when I
opened it, I gasped.

“Bagged-up
nails!” I screeched. “Good thick ones, half as
long as my finger, and a lot of them.”

“Yes,
and I know what I wish to do with them, as soon as Deborah
gets done cleaning that rocket launcher,” said Sarah.

“What
are you planning?” said Deborah in a low voice. She was still
cleaning out the rocket launcher between attempts to not vomit.

“He
brought down three bags of those cloth satchels,” said Sarah –
who then looked at me in alarm. “I hope there are no
spiders in those bags. You did check, didn't you?” Sarah's
unspoken comment was 'I do not wish to do a spider-dance'.

“No,
but he sent those things to the witches,” said Sepp, “and he did
something to them, too, such that the witches will have a lot
of trouble.”

“What?”
asked Deborah.

“Preflood
thirteen-stepped blue-back spiders, each of them with a legion of
demons to help it cause trouble?” I murmured. “Have them want
witches and those like them for food more than anything else, and
desire to live where witches do more than anywhere?” Pause, then,
“not a single spider left in the whole house, if I go by what I can
feel. Not a one, dear, so there shouldn't be any of them in those
bags.”

“Now
that sounds about right,” said Deborah. “I hope some end up in
Boermaas.”

“Some
did, most likely, though they won't show much of themselves for a
while,” I said.

“No,
but they will kill their share of lecturers and students,”
said the soft voice. “No, the place isn't going to get cleaned
out, but anywhere between three and seven people a week in the town
and school are going to be suddenly found dead and drained of blood.”

“With
lots of little red marks all over them from hungry spiders getting
food out of them,” I said. “The real trouble, though, is going
to be in that market.”

“What
is happening there? asked Deborah with alarm.

“A
big war, as the witches have decided to take the kingdom,” said
Sepp. “They're going to eat a lot of lead, though – those people
have been having so much trouble in the last few weeks with witches
and thugs of one stripe or another that they've stocked up on powder
and lead, and turned their places into fortresses. Then, they
brought in every cannon in the entire kingdom, so they're
going to shoot up the witches, and finally, every guard in that house
down there is going to be using his rifle on the witches –
and they have plenty of both guards and rifles there, or so I heard.”

“Rifles?”
I asked.

“Lukas
told me about those,” said Sepp. “They aren't as big in the
barrel as one of those fifth kingdom things, but they shoot further
than what his does, and they hit nearly as hard as what you
have if the range isn't too far.” Sepp implied that the sights
were the limits on these things: they didn't have adjustable sighting
equipment like mine.

“How
big are they for bores?” I asked.

“He
said they were usually about a two-gage, but they took bullets that
are like those cheese-bullets you came up with, so they shoot a far
distance and hit hard, too.”

“Two-gage,”
I said. “A bit more than half an inch. I'll most likely be making
a fair number of similar-sized weapons when we get back.” Pause,
then, “nails? Perhaps cut those bricks of explosive in thirds
using that big... Oh, my. The frost is gone from that huge
knife.”

“I
would be careful of it just the same,” said Deborah. “Give it
another turn of the glass or half an hour by that little
brass-looking watch you have, as that cold feels like fire if you are
not careful.” Pause, then, “what happens if you get some of that
explosive and put nails to it?”

“Trouble,”
said Sarah. “We put a three-foot fuse to one we did using half
of a brick, but these were smaller and thinner nails, not at all like
these things, and when that bomb went, it ripped up those witches and
mules worse than a whole limber full of distance-shells.”

“Oh,
and those things we put in the satchels,” I said. “Perhaps make
up a few, and put the nails to those.” I then asked, “do
we have, uh, pull-type fuse igniters, ones which burn for, uh, ten to
twelve seconds?”

“Third
bin from the bottom, with more plastic explosive below it,”
said the soft voice. “Note that while this is the gray material,
its' formulation has been 'updated', and hence their sniffers will
not know what it is.”

“Gray?”
I asked. “No odorants?”

“Not
just 'no odorants',” said the soft voice. “No fillers, and no
smell at all, less even than that white stuff.”

“Hence
lots of nails in our satchel charges,” I said. “Oh, maybe
add some cooking fuel to those things to give them that smoky
flavor.”

“What
are you talking about?” asked Deborah.

“Oh,
I was making a very bad joke,” I said. “Now, if we put a third
of a nail-studded brick on each side of a goodly lump of that
military-grade cooking fuel, connect both charges by that nice
exploding rope called det-cord, use one of those non-smoking igniters
with several turns of that det-cord around its cap to give it
something of a boost, and then pitch one of those into
Funkelmann's, it should give them a very hot time.”

“I
think so!” spat Sarah. “I was thinking of putting a round
mine with a brick of that cooking fuel, actually, and that right up
next to the door.”

“Those
places are going to be absolutely crawling with thugs, dear,” I
said. “Spraying the place with a machine pistol is just going to
get them irritated. We'll need to do this carefully – one person
cuts loose with one of those, the other of the pair tosses in the
satchel charge, the first two run like hell, the bomb explodes, then
as the smoke billows out of the door, the others put the
ready-prepared round mine up against the door after they pull it
shut, they get clear while unrolling the wire, and then set it
off with a pot-battery while person number five provides cover with
something like a rifle, or possibly the broom.”

“What
happens then?” asked Deborah.

“No
more drink-house,” I said. “They might be able to
salvage the foundations – maybe. The above-ground portions
are going to be gone, and everyone inside the place and those
running out of the rear will sup with Brimstone – if they
aren't doing so already from hot lead or being nailed.”
Pause, then, “that kind of a satchel charge is going to do a lot
of damage, so we won't have swarms of thugs trying to bust down the
door when we set the mine in front of it.”

“That
sounds like a very good plan,” said Gabriel. “Were I able to
help upon the sea, I could...”

“Once
you finish with those clubs, Gabriel, let me smell them, or better,
let Dennis smell them, and if they're passable, then you can help us
make up some of those bombs,” said Sarah. “Between the three of
us, we should manage several, not just three, as I have a
distinct feeling that there will be places like Funkelmann's
overseas.”

“They
won't look like Funkelmann's, but they'll have a lot of
drunk-as-stinkers thugs in them, and that kind of bomb will
settle them good,” I said. “Oh, the pills, also.
We'll wish to take those, as we need to dispose of them before
their filling becomes 'touchy'.”

“Dispose?”
asked Gabriel innocently. “How do you propose...” Pause, then,
“place them in the right place, and light their fuses?”

“That,
or toss the stinking things,” I said. “I won't be able to toss
them far, but I might manage enough distance to, uh, get to some of
those stinkers, especially if I happen to find 'spy central' or
whatever they call their monitoring stations.”

“There's
but one large one for the whole place, and if you put one of
those pills in there, you will really cause a lot of trouble,
as all of the secret networks go to that
location. Kill the personnel there and wreck the place good, and you
will have messed up their command-and-control situation worse yet.”

I then had the chance to start
sniffing the clubs, and I soon found that all
I could smell was the vomit-inducing aroma of aquavit. I then went
to the one Gabriel had worked on first...

“Gah!”
I spat. “That thing smells like aquavit, and I want to spew!”
I then had a question.

“What will that
show up as?”

“Something they
have no records on save in a place that would take weeks to get to,”
said the soft voice. “That odor will remain upon those clubs to
some degree for over a week, but I would wipe them down again with
aquavit while you're on the sailing craft just to be certain.”

“And, uh, those
satchel charges?” I asked.

“These are
better nails than what we used,” said Sarah, “and that rigging
knife of Deborah's is perfect for this.”

“About the only
use I can think of for it, actually,” she said. “Now if I had an
instrument-maker's knife...”

I went to my
possible bag, found two of those – I had more at home and in my bag
– and with due gravity, handed them to Deborah. She was overjoyed
to the point where she hugged me as if crazed.

“These are the
best I have ever seen!” she screeched. “Now, did these get the
ice?”

“Not sure,
dear,” I said. “I've not needed to sharpen them yet, but I make
so many of those that...” I took both in my hand, set them on the
ground, and prayed, asking that their steel be changed into that
infernal 'Superalloy' and then be impregnated with the other
materials, and finally get 'the deep chill' that 'made' the stuff.
Both knives erupted smoke, then became covered with several inches of
frost.

“What did you
do?” asked Deborah.

“I asked that
they be like your knife,” I said. “Now the tricky
portion, that which will need a decent meal...” I then looked at
Sepp.

“You're the best
cooker, I think,” I said. “What do you say we try our our field
gear, and prepare a meal?”

“Good idea,”
he said. “Best wait until we go upstairs, though, as I'm loath to
do cooking around ammunition and explosives.”

“Sorry, I
forgot,” I said. “Trouble is, we'll need to do that over there
more than a little.”

“Easy enough,”
said Sepp. “There, we'll keep those supplies well clear of where I
do the cooking. Now this mortar here works well, and this big pestle
thing is turning this dried meat into something like this really
coarse brown powder.”

“Less bulk,
cooks faster, and, uh...”

“Right,” said
Sepp. “Now where did Karl get to? I could stand a spell on this
and learn about that gray stuff that looks like moldy Kuchen dough,
as I want to do some of these other things up if I have the chance.”

“You wish to
wrap it well in rags, unless you have gloves like these,” said
Sarah, exhibiting her 'chemical-proof gloves'. “Two layers of
rags, tie them well with string, then poke in as many nails as you
can, and then put the cooking fuel in between the charges, and tie
the whole together with that stuff he calls det-cord. This sheet
here shows how to do so, as it has several suggested traps listed,
and that setup he spoke of is listed as being especially good for
'house-clearing'.” Pause, then, “that one we did for that
thread-seller's place cleaned house, all right, and it was a lot
smaller.”

“How many nails
did we get?” I asked.

“Ten kilos, and
all of them five centimeter high-tensile concrete nails,”
said the soft voice, “as well several boxes of things that are far
easier to use than friction igniters, a lot sturdier than friction
igniters, fully waterproofed, and with a variable delay built in to
them.”

“Caps? I asked.

“Those are in
their own box, are quite stiff as such caps go, and screw onto the
end of these other things,” said the soft voice. “Just tie that
cord about the cap and loop it a few times before tying it in place
with string, set the delay using the knob, then press the red button.
It will start then.”

“Will it smoke?”
I asked.

“No, and the
timing mechanism will be barely audible,” said the soft
voice. “Those drunken fools won't hear a thing until that thing
detonates, and when it goes, you'll need to be quick with those round
mines, so much so that I would make them up beforehand and do each
such drink-house in turn, with Funkelmann's being the first,
Goortmann's being the second, and Snoggwaart's being the third –
and anyone you see running about while dealing with those
drink-houses, don't bother to find out who they are – just kill
them. If they're out at that hour of the night, they are sure to be
inclined toward witchdom at the very least.”

I then asked to
learn how far these devices were waterproof to.

“To thirty
meters,” said the soft voice. “You'll wish to save a few to have
them copied, as that's a drastically improved wartime device that
they have no records of.” Pause, then, “once you're done
in here, and get your meals in the refectory, go up to the chemical
laboratory on the fourth floor, and you'll get some more
surprises there when you help get Annistæ's and Deborah's
living quarters set up tonight.”

“Where will we
be sleeping?” I asked.

“Why, up there,”
said the soft voice. “You'll hear about a lot of things Annistæ
wishes for while helping her there, and those are things that will be
most-needed in the house proper and where you live, also.”

“Things
she wishes for?” I asked.

“A
cold-box, for one,” said the soft voice. “Most houseware
production lines have been idled overseas for a very long
time, but bringing them back on line will commence before your group
leaves.”

“Will
they need drastic updating?” I asked.

“No, but modest production of 'the
latest-current-design' devices will happen before you leave,” said
the soft voice. “Granted, most of their parts will need
updating over time and there are designs for them, but the
way most housewares are over there, that's a quick and easy job due
to their modular nature, and most of the currently functional
cold-boxes are composite assemblies kept functional by using
cannibalized parts removed from older ones 'gone over the hill'.”

“Gone
over the hill?” I asked. “Desertion from duty?”

“That
only became a problem, at least overseas, during the waning
years of that war,” said the soft voice, “and it never was much
of a problem, at least for where you are going. The consequences of
doing so in that area tended to be so dire it was better to stick it
out in that nation's military, no matter how bad it seemed.”

Pause,
then, “on the other hand, it was an issue from 'day one' for that
one witch-nation that once stood where you live, and that situation
only grew worse with time as their mobilization become total and the
military took over the country in its totality – and as their
territory grew and their ability to control it grew also, even so,
desertion was a continual problem – as it was impossible to
suppress the stories that were circulating about
'hundred-percent-casualty-rates' and 'if you encounter a heavy scout
team with a 'monster', you're absolutely going to die horribly' –
and both situations were nothing short of the dire truth.”

Another
pause, then, “it may have been a constant and growing problem, but
that place had fewer deserters than anywhere on the continent,
especially once the Mistress of the North was put in charge of the
entire military effort.”

“What
can they do to me?” I muttered. “Ship me to Berky?”

“That
was no joke then,” said the soft voice, “because all
deserters who were caught – which, up until the very end of the
real wartime effort in this area, was every single one of them
– ended up in that very location – if they were 'lucky'.”

Pause,
then, “that presumed that they were not sacrificed when caught and
then eaten, and given the tendencies of the Mistress of the North
that way and how she was 'the overall commander, and that in
perpetuity' of the military effort – she was much more than just
commanding soldiers, by the way; she was also in charge of armament
production, training camps, and everything connected with
fighting the war, and had automatic levy and requisition powers,
which made her, in effect, the absoluteruler of that
country, as Imhotep had gone into hiding with his liquid assets
carefully cached in safe-regions known only to himself, and he
rotated his stay among those locations on his own private rail
line.”

Another
pause, then, “unless the deserter or captive had useful levels of
skills that were needed by that woman and her coterie, then the rule
when dealing with such people was 'first torture them, then sacrifice
them to Brimstone, and then devour their remains raw'.”

Over
the next hour, we cleaned, prepared, now and then ate, and in the
process, learned from Annistæ just how commonplace –
and capable – radios were in the 'realm of the Black Rooster'. She
described the nature of the usual settlement transmitter, this being
capable of either code transmission – one used that was unlike
either that used here or by the witches, hence it was 'relatively
secure' – or voice, and then, the nature of the antenna used.

“Weak
transmitter, good fidelity, but the antenna used more or less
makes up for the lack of transmitter power,” I squeaked.

“Cé,”
she said. “Then, there is the usual receiver for the settlement
itself, and it has ten to twelve valfuelæ. It is much
larger than this small one, and a bit more sensitive, but it still
needs a careful touch to use, and then there are horns set up in
several places, so whoever has radio duty can either send out news or
pick up news, and the same for music.”

“Is
there a specific time for transmissions, say, by given regions?” I
asked.

“Cé,
that and differing frequencies for transmission,” said Annistæ.
“This radio with its headphone would be good for field work, as it
is small and uses little power, but I really wish a bigger one, as
those can drive horns.”

“And,
uh, smaller transmitters?” I asked.

“Cé,
we had them also,” said Annistæ. “They needed to use code,
and stringing up the antenna wire was difficult, so we eventually
went to ones which were a bit larger for their size but needed cans
because of their shorter wavelengths, and those used voice. They did
not work as well for range, but ten thousand metrâè is
much distance for much of what we did when dealing with Cabroni,
especially near our borders, and they worked well to nearly twice
that.”

“The
other type was useful when you went to cut wood,” I said. “You
were gone long enough, and far enough, that you needed that kind of
range, and possibly one or more relays of your signal.”

This
caused a strange association, that being the letters 'A.R.R.L.', and
with it, I could tell at the back of my mind all of that
mostly forgotten code was there. More, I could relearn it readily –
and I knew I could make suitable 'straight keys'.

After
all, they had nice ball-bearings overseas, as well as small
powerful magnets and gold-plated reed switches. My keys would work
good, and that no matter how they were 'abused'.

“Cé, when conditions were bad, we needed to relay our
signals,” she said. “Much of the time, though, we could get
through well enough, and that is always better.”

“Uh,
a dedicated room, lots of batteries, a charger in the room next to
it, a lot of work to keep it running right?” I asked.

“Cé,
only if it was a larger transmitter, the shelves of batteries would
take up an entire wall, as one wanted over three hundred cells to
give sufficient pressure for such valfuelæ to work well, and
they usually took fifty to seventy small units of flow when running.
The receiver merely wished thirty to fifty cells, depending on
whether we wished to drive several horns or use headphones only.”

“Cells?”
I asked.

“For
such equipment, they are fairly small, a bit bigger than these large
cups of beer some like here,” she said.

“You
mean liked,” said Sarah. “The cooks chopped those awful
things up and bagged up the pieces, and Georg is to take that scrap
metal back with him tomorrow.”

“Brass,
copper, uh, tin?” I asked.

“I
would melt my copper and tin, then add my brass a small bit at a time
with long tongs in a good flow of air,” said Annistæ.
“That will keep its burning and fumes down. Then, one wishes but
a little brass, but if one gets the formulation right, it makes very
good jackets for bullets.”

“Nine parts copper, one part tin,
perhaps half a part of brass?” I asked.

“That is what is used for bullets
that travel especially fast,” said Annistæ. “The
more-common type we used wanted more brass and less tin, and though
the jackets are still copper-colored, they break up more easily when
they hit something like the gut of a Cabroné, which is what is
needed to stop such smelly people quickly when they are full of what
they like for drink.”

Someone then tapped at the door, and
to my surprise, I saw one of the women tailors come and motion to
both Deborah and Annistae. I wondered why the tailors weren't on the
lead detail, until I saw that in the case of this woman, she was one
of the three left on the premises so as to get certain people
'clothed'. More, it was now known that all
of our used clothing was best made into paper,
or otherwise recycled, and for some reason, I had this weird
thought in my mind.

Annistæ
would actually prefer this 'stuff' over strips of clothing if she
could get her hands on such thick 'yarn', as it worked especially
well with her rug-hook as it was now. I thought to ask her when she
got back but as I continued checking through the bins we had, I found
a strange-looking 'vest', this unusual in its size – it was for
someone of short and slight figure – and also, it was obviously
for a woman. I thought to bring it to Sarah, who took one look at it
and screeched.

“This thing has
my name on it!” she yelled.

“Perhaps try it
on?” I asked. “See if it fits?”

Sarah did just
that, and not three minutes later, she returned.

I then learned the
truth about these vests: they tended to make women look especially
lovely, and it was all I could do to not hug the stuffing out of
Sarah. As it was, I felt strongly inclined to rub her, and she
seemed to like that greatly.

“You really seem
to know when my neck or shoulders are getting knots,” she said.
“Now, does this make me look more attractive?”

“Yes, dear, it
does,” I said soothingly. “You look especially lovely,
though I think you look lovely no matter what you are dressed in.
Now, all you need is one of those nice soft cloaks, one that helps
keep out distractions, a special recliner for sewing or studying, a
computer, and perhaps some other things I cannot currently think
about – oh, and a comfortable headset and a good radio to listen
to, so you can enjoy music.” Pause, then, “only one thing
missing, and I have no idea where or how to get one for you.”

“What?” asked
Sarah.

“A small red
stone, very fiery and brilliant,” I said. “I'm not sure if it
goes on your finger or on a chain about your neck, but they were
called rubies where I came from, and I think you need one the
size of a small pea.”

“What would I
wish one of those for?” asked Sarah.

“To remind you
of why you are laboring so hard, and who you are
laboring for, and how important what you are doing
actually is when matters seem dark, gloomy, scary, and forbidding,”
I said. “There's something about remaining a long time in the
black sack that makes many women greatly desire such
adornment, as they need reminders.”

“I already have
one about my neck, remember?” asked Sarah.

“Yes, but that
one is from the one you are to serve,” I said. “This one
would be from m-me, and it says how much I cherish you.” I then
reached into my pocket, and for some odd reason, I found something in
a small wooden box. I took it out, and gave it to Sarah –
who then opened it. She gasped, then said, “what is this thing! I
have never seen anything like it!”

I took one look,
then, “the small finger of the right hand, dear,” I said. “That
is one of those stones I was talking about, and now, we both know
this thing is a lot bigger than what I thought it was.
You're going to need that ring, really need it, and in
the black sack...”

Sarah looked at me
with a look that was the very picture of horror, then hugged me,
whispering, “thank you. I was just told why you wanted me
to have it, and saying I need it is a gross understatement.”

“You'll get a
much fuller explanation tomorrow about the need for that ring,”
said the soft voice. “You have a marriage seal, but that ring
isn't like one of those.” Pause, then, “they have plenty of
those stones overseas, and they will become very popular at
the Abbey in the foreseeable future.”

“Why?” I
asked.

An
enigmatic reply came to me: “can't tell if I'm going up
or down.” Pause, then, “it
helps to have that
kind of a reminder to duty then, as then you can
tell if you are going up or down – or sideways,
or the time has slipped in some fashion, or any one of a number of
strange things that can and do happen in an altered time and space
regime.” Another pause, then, “such rings will be required
space equipment, by the way, as if you think the black sack is
strange, wait until you try going faster than light in a starship.
Then you'll need one
to avoid trouble – and that for both men and women, especially if
they're doing work on the flight
deck.”